


Superannuated

by xRabbitx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Basically just sex between gay men, Bit of the ol' angst, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Eventual Romance, First Meetings, Homelessness, I'll tag this as the chapters get published, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Jamie is 25 like in canon just FYI, M/M, Malnutrition, Masturbation, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Violence, Pining, Power bottom Junkrat, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slurs, antique au, eventually explicit, i'm so bad at tags, mentions of gang violence, oh jeez, possible PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-18 17:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xRabbitx/pseuds/xRabbitx
Summary: Somewhere in some big European city, Mako lives his life in his small, but exclusive antiques shop. Every day is more or less the same, and that's just how Mako likes it. But there's no way that's going to last, is it? And there's a certain someone who's just waiting to turn Mako's life upside down.





	1. The Wishbone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah, I know I whined about how the list of roadrat fics I wanted to write was getting really long, and then what do I do? I go ahead and make up an entirely new AU instead. Well done, Rabbit T_____T
> 
> Anyway, welcome to the first chapter of this little AU. I don't know how many chapters there will be yet or how often I will update, but you probably know by now that I just can't keep my hands off these two lovely junk boys for very long ^^;;

*

 

It’s a small alley off a small street off a slightly larger street off a high street. The shop tucked away in the corner at the end of the dead end alley. The two large storefront windows are covered by large wrought iron grates that double as climbing frame for white climbing roses that match the white bricks of the building. Behind the grates and the roses, there’s a simple but beautiful display of old furniture of polished wood. Most of it is modernistic, Scandinavian design from the 1930s to 60s (Arne Jacobsen, P.H., Kaare Klint, Greta Grossman, Hans Wegner, Børge Mogensen; the best of the best) and all of it is outside normal people’s price range. The shop is never full, never busy; in fact, if the little bell over the door dings, it’s either the postman, one of the neighbors, or some tourist who has gone astray, thinking they can afford what the shop is selling, but they can’t. Most of the things in here are either sold on auctions once every month, or over the phone. The shop caters to a small and very exclusive clientele, and they trust the owner of the shop so much, that all they need to do is describe what they’re looking for. If the shop has it in stock or the owner can find it for them, the clients will pay even without seeing the actual piece of furniture. It sounds like an easy way to run a shop, but it’s not. It only takes one mistake, one wrong purchase for a client to decimate its reputation; a reputation that has taken almost two decades to build. So no, it’s isn’t easy at all.

            Upon entering the shop, there are two things that greet you. The first is the aforementioned ding of the little bronze bell above the door, and the second one is the smell. It’s not a bad smell once you’ve gotten used to it, but most people feel their eyes water a bit and their throats get a little itchy at first. The shop is tiny, and there is a small workshop in the back where the furniture is maintained, stripped, upholstered, lacquered, repaired, polished, and everything else it might need before getting put up on display out in the shop. The air is filled with the smell of lacquer thinner, paint, wax, mothballs, very fine saw dust, and just the general smells you will find in any room that is filled to burst with old wood and leather. It’s a very special smell, and people have said that it reminds them of that smell that would always meet them when they opened their grandmother’s wardrobe or finally pried open that stubborn drawer in an old bureau. People generally seem to like the smell once they have gotten used to it. The owner of the shop hasn’t smelled it in years, and sometimes he envies people’s ability to detect it, because it always seems to bring forth good memories of old relatives.

            The next two impressions that will meet you as you enter the shop is the sheer amount of furniture piled up in the shop. Every single square foot of the shop is covered in tables, chairs, couches, desks, bookshelves, armchairs, vases, and everything else that has come from the hand of the modernist designers. In between it all, there are arranged narrow passageways, little paths that will take you through the entire shop and give you a chance to see everything the shop has to offer. There are no price tags on anything, because price is never an issue with the customers that frequent this shop. The final and probably most lasting impression you will get is that of the owner himself, Mako Rutledge.

            Most people who meet Mako Rutledge on the street will either stare down at their feet as they pass him or will simply stop and step aside to let him pass. Both times they will do so in fear, because there’s nothing gentle about the way Mako Rutledge presents himself. First of all, there’s his sheer size. He is a mountain of 7'3" tall, and his girth is almost as impressive. His fingers are at least one joint longer than the average male hand and several inches wider, which has resulted in some people speculating in whether or not Mako can actually lift a fully grown man by his head. Secondly, there’s the fact that most of Mako’s light brown body is covered in tattoos that look very foreign and exotic in nature to the people that live here. Not that anyone has ever seen Mako naked, so they can’t possibly know, but most of the people that live or work in the area are pretty certain that the only places Mako isn’t tattooed are his face and the palms of his hands. No one dares ask him, because he doesn’t exactly exude approachability.

            The only person who interacts with Mako on a daily basis is Ana, the middle-aged Egyptian lady who runs and owns the coffee shop on the corner of the alley and the slightly bigger street. It’s the kind of place where young people, especially young men in thick-rimmed glasses, long beards, and canvas shoes, seem to flock, spending hours and hours at the small tables with their laptops. Neither Mako nor Ana has any idea what they’re doing on their laptops, but it must be important, because they spend a lot of time doing it. But they’re never too busy to talk to Ana and tell her about the qualms and anguishes of their supposedly hectic and interesting lives. Ana listens patiently to them and offers them the advice she can, and they always thank her, but they never follow her advice, because they are always back again with the same or similar issues. Mako has no idea how Ana can stand it, but she seems to love her flock of confused, young men, and they do spend a lot of money on coffee. Mako isn’t exactly young anymore, but that doesn’t stop him from borrowing Ana’s ear from time to time as well. He doesn’t have many troubles, but the few that he has, he shares with her, and he usually follows her advice, because she’s usually knows best, the way mothers usually know best.

            Mako doesn’t spend much time in the coffee shop, though. He usually comes in every morning right when Ana opens, buys his coffee (Turkish coffee to wake up) and sits at the bar for a little while as he drinks it. He will tell Ana about the new furniture he has renovated lately or the hidden gems he has discovered in his searches for new things to sell in his shop, and she will listen patiently, smile at him, and sometimes she will tell him news about her daughter Fareeha who is away attending the Royal Air Force College Cranwell in England. How the daughter of a coffee shop owner gets the idea to become fighter pilot is completely beyond Mako, but it could have something to do with Fareeha’s father, a man Mako doesn’t know anything about and has never asked about.

            Once Mako is done with his coffee, he orders a large latte to bring with him to his shop. He could brew the coffee himself, but he can never get it as tasty as Ana, and despite being a bit of a hermit, Mako really enjoys her company. She does t fear him or suck up to him; she tells him if he's being an idiot, and she's not afraid to take a healthy of battle of words between friends. Mako likes her, and if he had had any interest in women whatsoever he might have courted her. But he doesn't. He barely has any interest in men either. It's not as if his libido has gone completely dormant, but he just doesn't have the patience these days to deal with a partner even if it's just for a fuck or two. Most gay men his age have either settled down or are looking to settle down, and Mako isn't interested in settling down with anyone. Besides, as cliché as it may sound, Mako isn't really that interested in men his own age, at least not aesthetically. Like so many other man, gay and straight, he likes his sexual partners to be younger than him, because well, they just look better! But young people are tiring and frustrating and dumb, and the handful of times Mako has ventured into a gay bar for young people, he has left with a tension headache (and a twink on each arm, because Mako knows he's gorgeous). The following sex has never really been great enough to prompt Mako to go out more often. So even if he was straight, Mako wouldn't court Ana. He leaves that to Reinhardt, the guy who owns the watch shop opposite Mako's. Reinhardt is a tall, maybe even taller than Mako, actually, older man who has spent the better part of a decade wooing Ana. He's very loud, very happy, and very friendly, and even though Mako quickly gets sick of Reinhardt's bombasticity, he actually likes the guy. Reinhardt is terrified for Mako for some reason, but he is always very friendly.

            Reinhardt spends most of his days trying to come up with new ways to convince Ana that he's the man for her, and even though Ana dismisses each and every attempt at winning her affections, she always does so with a smile. Mako is convinced that she secretly enjoys the attention, although she falters out denied it when he once suggested as much. Still, the flirting definitely goes both ways, and even though it's been going on for years now, Mako (and everyone else who knows them) is just waiting for the day where they finally get together.

            Mako spends the rest of his morning enjoying his coffee and go through the letters and emails he has gotten since yesterday. He thoroughly dislikes modern technology, but he realizes that even a tiny shop like his wouldn't be able to fare well without it, so he eventually had to give in and set up an email for the shop. It doesn't have a website or any kind of social media presence; it doesn't need to. Mako's clients have his number, and if they need something, Mako will get it for them no matter how long it will take him. They get to pay for his trouble, too. Mako has never told anyone just how much he makes on his little business, and no one has ever dared to ask him. The shop doesn't look like much, but anyone who knows even just a little bit about the clients Mako caters to will be able to figure out that business is very, very good. Mako doesn't like to show it, and most of the status symbols of today are horrifyingly ugly anyway. No, Mako is perfectly happy living in his tiny apartment above the shop and driving his restored 1969 Mercedes-Benz 280SE Opera Coupe (okay, that one might be a bit of a status symbol). He doesn't like wasting money, and he mostly saves them with the intention of eventually buying a cottage somewhere in the south of England where he can retire and spend his days hunting and just doing whatever he wants. Sometimes if he gets a bit lost in his daydream, there's someone there with him in the cottage, but that's pretty rare.

            Mako opens the shop when he's done with the mail—it seems a bit silly to even open the shop at all, because no one ever comes in here, but Mako does it anyway—and then he heads into the small workshop in the back to continue his work on whatever piece of furniture that needs polishing, a new seat, or whatever else it might need. Many would probably consider Mako's life pretty boring, and Mako might be tempted to agree with them if he hadn't already had more excitement in his life than a normal human being would normally have had in an entire lived life, but he doesn’t like to talk about it, and no one asks him. Not even Ana, even though Mako would probably tell her if she asked. And whenever Mako gets a bit sick of his quiet life, he just takes a glance in the mirror. His tattoos are a daily reminder that this will always be the better alternative, and in that sense, he has never regretted getting them.

            When it’s a usual day, Mako will spend the rest of the day in his workshop. His phone might ring once or twice, and Ana might swing by around lunch to offer him a sandwich (she usually does that), and by six, Mako will close the shop and retreat to his apartment to cook dinner and read until he goes to bed. He has been doing this for many, many years, and apart from a small tingle of boredom now and then, Mako is satisfied. It’s a nice, quiet and predictable life, and that’s the way he likes it. Or that’s how his life used to be, because of course something had to come and fuck it all up, and that something enters his shop one summer afternoon.

            Mako is in his workshop as usual the when the bell over the door dings. It’s really bad timing, because Mako is lacquering an end table by Klint, and stopping in the middle of the process might cause the finish to be uneven, which would mean that he would have to sand it down and start over again. He half-hoping that maybe it’s Ana, but she always call out to let him know it’s her, and no one is calling out. So it’s with an annoyed huff that Mako puts down the brush and gets off the ratty old office chair he uses in the workshop to go into the shop. It’s probably a tourist again—maybe even one of those people who have been watching too many antiques shows on TV and think they can come in here and make a bargain—and Mako is already practicing his lecture on how those TV shows are misleading as he wipes his hands in his work apron and shuffling into the shop. He stops when he reaches the counter (an old glass box with various silver pieces by Arne Jacobsen, Ola Dahlsveen, and others on display), but he doesn’t see anyone there. This is a bit strange, because he hadn’t heard the bell ding again, so the door has only been opened once.

            “Hello?” Mako grunts, looking around and jumping slightly in surprise when he suddenly spots a face grinning at him. A long and lanky young man appears behind a stack of dining table chairs, and it’s definitely not one of the tourists who usually wander into his ship. No, this guy looks very different from head to toe; his hair is light blond with a reddish, orangey tinge to it when the sunlight hits it through the store front windows, and it’s sort of wild and poofy without being curly—it honestly reminds Mako a bit of one of those little troll figurines you can stick on the end of a pencil. Of course, the guy’s hair isn’t what makes him stand out from the people who usually come into Mako’s shop, but his clothes definitely are. The guy is wearing a leather jackets that looks like it’s about to fall apart, and under it, he’s wearing a black t-shirt with some kind of faded print on it, maybe a band? The guy’s jeans are black, too, and ripped in several places. They are tight and actually pretty revealing, but they mostly reveal how skinny the guy is, which is very skinny. One his feet, the guy is wearing a pair of old, red, and extremely worn out converse sneakers with black scribbles all over them. Mako can’t really make them out, but he’s pretty sure he sees the anarchist A there somewhere. Yeah, he’s pretty sure that’s what that symbol is, and now that Mako thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he has seen people dressed like this guy down on the big square with the fountain. They’re always hanging around, smoking cigarettes, arguing, playing with their dogs, or just sleeping right there on the ground. They’re punks, and although the 1970s have long since passed, the punks are still here apparently.

            “Arvo, mate!” the guy says, still grinning widely at Mako, and Mako notices that one of his canines is glinting like gold in the afternoon sun. His lips are pierced, too; a ring in each side, and he looks so out of place here that Mako almost laughs in his face. But he doesn’t. Just because this kid doesn’t have the money to buy anything, Mako will still treat him nicely.

            “Can I help you?” Mako asks him, watching as the guy comes up to him, easily threading through the labyrinth of furniture thanks to his skinny frame.

            “Oh, uh, yeah,” the kid says, picking a bit at his stretched earlobe. “Yeah, I was lookin’ fer a present fer me nan. She’s turnin’ 80 next week, and I think she might think some of this’d be ripper!”

            Mako isn’t exactly sure he understands everything the guy just said—it has been quite a while since he has been back in that corner of the world, and it’s kind of a weird coincidence that an Australian punk should walk into his shop of all places. Especially considering how far they are from Australia right now.

            “Uh,” Mako just says stupidly before he gets himself together and clears his throat. “What are you looking for?”

            “Dunno, really,” the kid replies with a shrug, but then he spots the silver in the glass counter and he hops close to crouch down and press his nose flat against the glass with a whistle, and it irritates Mako, because he knows he’s going to have to polish the glass once the kid has left. “One of these maybe? They’re pretty.”

            “Those are designer jewelry,” Mako points out as if the kid is blind, and he feels a bit like a shit for doing it. But if the kid is offended, he doesn’t show it, because he just grins up at Mako.

            “Yeah, who made ‘em? You?”

            “No,” Mako grunts, and he almost laughs. “Different people. Most of them are made by Scandinavian designers between 1930 and 1970.”

            “Oh, ace!” the kid says excitedly and gets up to lean against the counter. “Me nan loves old shite like that. Let’s have a looksee!” He points at a silver ring with a large piece of amber by Kupittaan Kulta, and Mako doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to afford that even if he saved up for 10 years, so he just unlocks the glass case and slides it open so he can take the ring out.

            “Wow,” the kid breathes and leans close to study the ring on Mako’s open palm. “It’s real pretty.” He lifts his gaze to meet Mako’s, and then three things happen in very quick succession.

            The first thing that happens is that Mako realizes that the kid’s face is completely covered in light brown freckles. The second thing that happens is that the kid swipes the ring from Mako’s hand so fast that Mako almost doesn’t even see him move. And finally, the third thing that happens is that the kid clearly realizes that the shop door is too heavy to open with one hand, because he struggles long enough for Mako to round the counter and grab him by the scruff of his neck.

            “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you little shit!?” Mako booms, lifting the guy off his feet and slamming him up against the door. The kid rasps and squirms, trying to wriggle away, but Mako’s grip on him is tight and good, so it’s all in vain.

            “You think you can steal from me?” Mako growls, and the kid actually whimpers a bit.

            “Look, mate, I’m sorry!” he splutters, holding the ring out so Mako can snatch it back with his free hand. “Ain’t got a brass razoo, okay? Worth a try, wasn’t it?” He grins weakly, but Mako isn’t in the mood for jokes. He doesn’t usually let people get away with trying to fuck with him.

            “I should turn you inside out,” Mako snarls, leaning closer, and the kid goes completely white under his freckles.

            “L-listen, you wouldn’t hit a bl-bloke with one arm, would’ya?” he stammers, waving around what should have been his right arm. The sleeve is empty, and Mako has to admit that he doesn’t usually make it his business to beat up people with missing limbs—it irritates him that he didn’t spot that before. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to let the kid off easy.

            “I’m calling the cops,” Mako grunts, and he pockets the ring to dig out his phone. He’s about to dial when the squirming kid interrupts him.

            “Oh c’mon, mate, don’t be like that!” he begs. “I technically ain’t s’posed to be in the country. No greencard. And—!” he seems to spot the tattoos on Mako’s arms, “those are Maori tattoos, right? Yer kiwi, yeah? I-I have some kiwi blood in me! I think! At least, I know folks that do! Ya wouldn’t turn in a fellow bloke from down under, right?”

            Mako sighs with his thumb hovering over the call button. If he called the police, he would have to give a witness statement and probably have to fill out a lot of paperwork. Mako’s experience with the police isn’t exactly stellar, and he’s honestly not all that interested in dealing with them at all. Plus, the kid does come from back home…

            Mako huffs and puts the phone away before lowering the kid and setting him down. He lets go of the leather jacket and take a step back, eyeing the guy with great suspicion.

            “Really, mate, yer a right corker!” the kid breathes, adjusting his jacket a bit. “No, I’m serious! I owe ya one, and if yer ever—!”

            “Just scram,” Mako growls, walking around the kid to pull the door open. “And don’t let me catch you around here again, or I _will_ call the cops on you.”

            “Right’o, mate, say no more!” the kid grins. “Name’s Jamie, by the way. See ya!”

            Mako wants to tell Jamie that he really doesn’t give a shit what his name is, but the kid has already slipped through the door and disappeared, leaving Mako standing there, holding the door like an idiot. Mako slams the door in annoyance, and it only gets worse when he goes back into the workshop to find that the lacquer has dried out completely, which means that he’ll have to start over. Mako promises himself that if he ever sees this kid Jamie again, he’ll give him that ass-kicking after all.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, that's it for now! I hope you liked it ^^
> 
> There shall be more soon (I hope)!
> 
> If you'd like to follow my fic writing progress or just my random musings about stuff, you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit) or [Tumblr](https://rabbitvswonderland.tumblr.com/)!


	2. The Ox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on for Mako after the strange incident with the punk named Jamie. In fact, Mako has mostly forgotten about it until one day in November...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, apparently my writing bug thinks it's a good idea for me to churn out almost 4k in three hours, so there you go! Here's chapter 2 way earlier than expected :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS. Please take a moment to look at these two amazing pieces of art that lovely people drew for the first chapter! [One by moonneko](http://moonneko.tumblr.com/post/159626596356/why-are-all-my-junkrats-just-so-ugly-like-xd-i-see) and [one by great-bay](http://great-bay.tumblr.com/post/159654061159/do-yall-ever-just-fall-in-love-with-an-au-fanfic)!
> 
> PPS. I apologize if I've butchered the Arabic language. Please correct me if I have!

*

 

It’s not like Mako to be unable to let something go; he has done plenty of things in his life that would have mentally and morally crippled most people, but not Mako, exactly because he has been able to put the past behind him and simply not think about it. It’s probably not the healthiest coping mechanism, and Mako is fully expecting the ghosts of his past to come back and haunt him some day, but for now, he’s fine. Besides, dealing with his past like normal people do, in therapy, would not only be costly, but would also potentially earn him a one-way ticket to prison. He spent a couple of months in prison here and there back home, but he has never repaid his debt to society for his biggest crimes, and he doesn’t intent to either. Mako likes his life as a free man.

            So since it’s so easy for him to forget about things and people, Mako is surprised when he still thinks about the kid the next day. Every time someone passes the windows, or when Ana comes over with lunch, Mako immediately lifts his head to see if it might be Jamie. It’s annoying as fuck, and Mako can’t figure out why the kid has lodged himself so deeply in his brain, like a piece of shrapnel. It only serves him to get even more irritated at the kid, and he almost hopes that Jamie will indeed come back, just so Mako can beat him up. His thoughts must have been showing on his face, because Ana tilts her head, the grey braid slipping off her shoulder, and asks, “What’s the matter with you?”

            “Nothing,” Mako grunts, shaking his head. They’re sitting by the glass counter in Mako's shop like they always do when they have lunch together. The smudge from Jamie’s nose is still on the glass.

            Ana arches an eyebrow at him and gives him a look that reminds Mako of the look his mother used to give him when he was kid whenever he tried to spin her a tall tale. It’s very effective.

            “It’s this damn kid,” Mako huffs and takes a sip of the ristretto Ana has brought him with lunch.

            “Kid?” Ana’s eyebrow travels higher.

            “Some punk came in here yesterday,” Mako explains, the bitterness of the coffee making his taste buds tingle. “He pretends he’s looking for a gift some his grandma, and then he tries to steal the Kulta ring right out of my damn hand.”

            “Did he get away?” Ana asks.

            “Nah,” Mako replies. “Caught him before he even got out the door. Made him give the ring back.”

            “So what are you so annoyed about? You got the ring back, didn’t you?”

            “I should’ve called the cops on him,” Mako grunts. “Just let him go with a warning. But who knows? He could try and steal from you next.”

            “Hah!” Ana laughs and waves dismissively at him, the golden bracelets clinking around her wrist . “I’d like to see him try. The last person who tried to rob me regretted it very dearly, I think.”

            It’s not the first time that Ana had alluded to the fact that she’s more than just a sweet, coffee-brewing lady, and Mako is just about to ask her about it when Ana’s phone buzzes. She pulls it out of her pocket, then sighs as she reads the text.

            “It’s Reinhardt,” she tells Mako. “I made him mind the shop for me while I was over here, but now he’s asking me if the steamer is supposed to actually be steaming. _Ya ibn el sharmouta_ , I’d better get back there before he blows the whole thing up. Sorry, Mako.”

            Mako just grunts and waves her off, and she hurries to leave, still cursing in Arabic as the door swings closed behind her. Mako stares at the door for a while after she’s left, lost in thought. The kid had said that he was broke and didn’t have a green card. Mako remembers what it was like when he had first gotten here without anything, no network, no papers, no nothing, and even though he’s still thoroughly annoyed with Jamie for the mere fact that he’s still haunting Mako’s thoughts, he can’t help but feel a little sorry for him, too. He’s probably either living on the streets or in shelters, and neither is easy, especially not for a kid. Mako huffs and shakes his head; Jamie is not his responsibility. Ana is the one who gives a shit about other people, not Mako. He has been perfectly fine not giving a shit for 20 years, and he’s going to continue to not give a shit.

            So that’s exactly what he does, and he continues to do so for small handful of months. Life on Mako’s little street goes back to normal the way it always does; Reinhardt doesn’t blow up Ana’s steamer, and Mako doesn’t see Jamie around again, and he actually manages to forget about him completely. Well, almost completely, because whenever Mako spots a homeless person or a group of those punks, he can’t help but look for Jamie, just to check and see how he’s doing. It always annoys him. And he always forces himself to look away like he doesn’t care. He never sees Jamie anyway, so the kid has probably changed neighborhoods or been caught and sent back to Australia. Or, you know, maybe he has starved to death under a staircase somewhere, but Mako tries really hard not to think about that. No one starves in this country anyway.

            The days and weeks trickle buy, and Mako runs his business as usual. Once a month, he goes to the old, family-owned auction house in the really fancy part of the town to sell his furniture. It always goes well, especially as summer turns to fall and finally into winter. Christmas is coming up, and people are competing on how can give the biggest, most expensive gifts. Mako sells five Wegner Y chairs for $1200 a pop and a Finn Juhl armchair for $3600, so all in all, a very good day. He meets with the owner of the auction house after the auction is over to get his money. The owner is a withered old man (obviously closeted gay from a time where being gay equaled prison), who has never liked Mako even the slightest, but Mako has learned that it doesn’t matter if people in the business like you as long as you can bring in the right merchandise. And Mako always brings in the right merchandise, so the crusty, old idiot will just have to put up with him. It is always immensely satisfying to see the guy wrinkle his nose and grimace as he pays out Mako’s money, and Mako always makes sure to smirk extra widely at him as he re-counts the money, which he always does just to be even more annoying.

            Mako pulls the scarf tighter around his neck when he steps outside. It’s proper winter now—not like the lukewarm, rainy shit of last year—but a proper, ice cold winter, and Mako hates it. It’s the only thing he despises about this place. He likes the heat and the sun, and sometimes he considers if he should uproot his life and move further south. That would mean he’d have to start over again, though, and he’s not really sure he has the patience for that. So he just sighs and tugs on his gloves and flips up the collar of his thick coat before heading home.

            It’s only 4:30 in the afternoon, but it’s already pretty dark out. The streets are shiny with water from the melted snow that reflects the street lights and Christmas decorations that are hanging, glittering and blinking, in the store front windows; the Christmas sales start earlier and earlier every year. The narrow sidewalks are swarming with people on their way home from work, and they’re all running for the bus, staring down at their phones, or trying to navigate the buzzing caravan of humans, pulling a bike laden with heavy grocery bags and a screaming toddler on backseat. The cars are lined up on the one-way street, honking and idling while waiting for the light to change. Bicyclists dart in and out between the cars, trying to get to the light first.

            It’s so very different from the place Mako grew up, and yet, he has to admit that he loves it. He loves it a lot. He loves the way there’s only about three hours of daylight during the winter, and how people seek refuge in their houses and apartments, lighting candles in their windows and drinking more red wine and eating more pasta per adult than any other country in Europe, even Italy. And he loves how the days stretch on forever in the summer, where it never really gets dark, and where high schoolers come waltzing home through the sleeping city at 5AM, barefoot and drunk off their tits. It’s a romantic city like that, and it took Mako a couple of years to admit how much he likes it.

            The city doesn’t feel that romantic right now, though, and Mako stuffs his hands into his pockets, hiding the bottom half of his face behind the thick scarf as he braves the billowing mobs of people. The salt the city uses to melt the snow and ice is crunching under his soles, and his shoes are probably going to be ruined by the time he gets home. It’s his own damn fault for wearing his good leather shoes to the auction, but he can’t help showing off when he has to deal with that old fart, and it’s almost worth it ruining those shoes. But not really, because they’re really good shoes, and now they’re going to have ugly salt residue on them. Ana might know a trick to get it off, though…

            Mako is pretty lost in thought as he comes to the end of the street. It opens up into one of the largest squares in the city. It’s round with a small park in the middle that functions as a giant roundabout, and lining the square are old, fancy hotels, the royal theater, the royal ballet, and the city’s oldest shopping center. It’s extremely high end, and the only people who shop there are ladies in fur coats and men in tailored suits. Mako likes to walk through it every now and then, because he likes to see the horrified faces of the clerks in the haberdashery department. They look at his size, his tattoos, and the way he has tied his grey hair into a bun on top of his head, and they almost cannot stand that he sets foot in _their_ department right up until he flashes his Speedmaster 1967 and his fat wallet. Then they’re suddenly extremely nice and welcoming, and Mako enjoys seeing how much they hate sucking up to him even as they suck up to him.

            But he’s not in the mood tonight. It has started to snow, and fat fakes gently float down from the dark skies, landing on his head and making his hair wet. So Mako turns away from the shopping center and heads down one of the smaller side streets. It’s getting colder now, and Mako is glad that the walk back to the store isn’t too long.

            “Oi, mate, can ya spare a fag?”

            Mako stops in his tracks so abruptly that the guy walking behind him slams right into his broad back. The guy hisses at him to look where he’s going, but he pipes down when Mako turns around and just hurries to elbow past Mako and disappear. It’s not that idiot Mako is interested in anyway. No, it’s the person sitting on the stone doorstep Mako just passed. It’s a young man with puffy blond hair, although some of the puffiness has gone out of it thanks to the snow. His ears are stretched, his lips are pieced, his face is freckled, and he’s still wearing the same shitty, old leather jacket and sneakers, both soaked.

            Jamie looks impossibly thinner than last time Mako saw him, and he’s curled into himself, trembling, because of course he is. It’s snowing and freezing, and Jamie isn’t dressed at all to be out in this kind of weather.

            Jamie’s lips are tinged with blue as he grins up at Mako. “Hey mate, a fag? Help a bloke out, will ya?”

            It doesn’t look like Jamie recognizes Mako, which is strange, because Mako isn’t exactly forgettable. Jamie just holds out his left hand, which is covered in a torn fingerless glove.

            “I’ll suck yer cock fer a fag and a meal.”

            This makes Mako snap out of whatever trance he’d been in, because there’s no way he can leave Jamie like this. That kid isn’t going to last the night in that condition, begging for cigarettes and turning tricks in an alley. It’s only a matter of time before he freezes to death or picks the wrong john.

            “Oi, wanker,” Jamie urges, hand still outstretched. “Yer up fer it or what?”

            There are two things Mako can do now; he can either call an ambulance to get Jamie to the nearest hospital, which would undoubtedly end up in Jamie being handed over to the police the moment he’s better, and Mako still isn’t best friends with the police, and he’s honestly a little impressed that Jamie has avoided getting caught for this long. The other thing Mako can do is the thing he really doesn’t want to do, but that he knows he has to.

            “Oh y-yeah, yer into it, mate?” Jamie is shivering so hard that he can hardly speak when Mako takes off the nice, warm scarf and wraps it around Jamie, then pulls him up to stand. It’s pretty clear that Jamie isn’t really in any state to walk, so Mako curls an arm around Jamie’s waist to lift him off his feet and carry him down the street.

            “H-hey, where’re we g-goin’, mate?” Jamie asks him, giggling nervously. “Yer into tossin’ people around? That’s fine, mate. But c-could we maybe g-get that meal first? I’m bloody starvin’.”

            “Shut up,” Mako grunts. The shop is just around the corner, and his face already feels like a giant frostbite without the protective scarf shielding him.

            Jamie keeps asking worried questions for the next couple of minutes, but Mako can feel the energy seeping out of him faster than water through a strainer, and by the time Mako unlocks and shoves the door to the shop open, Jamie has gone completely quiet. He just trembles so hard that Mako can hear his teeth clattering. In fact, it seems like he has lost consciousness.

            “Shit,” Mako breathes, and he hurries to close the door behind him before shedding his coat, leaving it on the floor as he carries Jamie upstairs to the small apartment. The bathroom is just big enough for both Mako and Jamie to fit in there, and Mako wrenches the faucet open to start filling the tiny tub. Jamie isn’t completely gone, but he’s definitely too gone to really understand what Mako says to him, and he probably doesn’t have any idea what’s going on or where he is; his eyes are only half-open, and he keeps mumbling unintelligible stuff. Mako isn’t happy about this at all, but there’s nothing for it. If Jamie keeps that wet, freezing clothes on, he’s going to catch something really nasty, and considering how skinny he is and how poor his immune system probably is right now, catching something really nasty is the opposite of what Jamie needs.

            So Mako sighs as he begins to undress Jamie. He had imagined that he would spend tonight with a really good dinner and an even better bottle of wine to celebrate the money he's made at the auction, but instead he’s kneeling on his bathroom floor and undressing a passed out punk and possible prostitute. Jamie doesn’t seem to mind much if he even realizes what’s going on, and he doesn’t fight Mako as Mako carefully but hurriedly peels the layers of cold, soaked clothes off him.

            Something twists inside Mako when he has stripped the kids to his briefs and he realizes just how thin Jamie actually is. He’s on the wrong side of looking malnourished, and Mako almost can’t bear to touch him as he lifts Jamie up and gingerly places him in the warm water in the tub, worried that he might accidentally break Jamie in half. Jamie lets out a long, soft sigh as his body is submerged in the water, and he even stops trembling after a minute or two as the warmth slowly seeps into his bones.

            Mako sits properly down on the floor and sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. In the tub next to him, Jamie’s head has lulled to the side, and he’s actually snoring, which Mako supposes is a good sign. That gives Mako a couple of minutes to contemplate what the hell he’s going to do now. He leans against the edge of the tub, keeping his eyes on Jamie to make sure that the idiot doesn’t accidentally drown himself. As he does so, he notices that apart from the freckles that continue downwards from Jamie’s face, down his neck and splays over his scrawny chest, Jamie is also covered in at least a dozen tattoos. Almost all of them are relatively small and look very homemade (hot-sewing-needle-and-ink-from-a-pen kind of tattoos), and although they are blurred and badly made, Mako can tell that they’re mainly supposed to be rats. There’s a rat on the side of Jamie’s neck, one crawling on his chest, several on both his arms, and even two on his left thigh. The only tattoo that’s properly big and looks professionally made is the skull Jamie has on his right arm—well, what’s left of his right arm, anyway. The arm is cut off a couple of inches below the elbow, and a large, white scar cuts across the stump. It looks like an old scar, and Mako can’t help but wonder how it happened.

            Jamie is sitting in Mako’s small kitchen an hour later, wrapped in Mako’s gigantic bathrobe that almost swallows Jamie up completely. Jamie still isn’t fully aware of what’s going on around him, but at least he’s sitting more or less upright by himself even if he just staring into the table. Mako is at the stove, heating up some leftover pumpkin soup. It’s a good, sturdy one that Ana made, full of spices that are going to kick start Jamie’s system and send some heat through him.

            “Wha’s goin’ on?” Jamie slurs when Mako sits down next to him and puts the steaming bowl of soup down in front of him.

            “Just eat,” Mako grunts and hands him the spoon.

            Jamie picks up the spoon and stares at it for almost a full minute before Mako sighs and takes it from him. He fills the spoon with soup, then blows on it to cool it down a bit before holding it in front of Jamie’s face.

            “Eat.”

            Jamie obediently opens his mouth and eats. He groans after he swallows the first mouthful, and suddenly it’s like his body realizes just how hungry it is, because he grabs the spoon from Mako and begins shoveling the soup into his mouth, completely ignorant to the fact that he’s probably burning the shit out of his tongue. Mako watches in amazement, but he doesn’t interrupt Jamie. The kid must really be starving.

            It takes Jamie less than five minutes to empty the giant bowl, and he even lifts it to his mouth to slurp down the last few drops. Then he drops the bowl back onto the table and collapses in the chair with a long and extremely satisfied groan. He turns his head and looks at Mako with very heavy eyelids, and then he smiles, wide and genuinely, at Mako before his eyes slide shut and he apparently falls asleep right there at the table.

            It’s kind of endearing the way the kid snuggles up in Mako’s giant bathrobe, and Mako can’t stop himself from smiling a bit before he realizes that he now has another problem on his hands, what the hell does he do now? There’s only one bed in Mako’s apartment, and there is no way Mako is going to share his bed with Jamie.

            And that’s how Mako ended up on the couch in his own home. Jamie hadn’t even woken up when Mako had carried him to bed and wrapped him in the thick duvet. He had simply grunted and curled up even more. And now Mako is lying on the couch, staring through the open bedroom door at the bundle on his bed that is Jamie. It doesn’t move except for the odd twitch, but Mako doesn’t want to risk anything. He doesn’t really know anything about treating people for hypothermia, so he wants to be able to hear Jamie if there should be some kind of emergency during the night. And then in the morning, he’ll—well, what exactly will he do in the morning? If he sends Jamie on his merry way, he’ll most likely just end up in exactly the same situation again, only Mako won’t be there to save his ass. Oh well, that’s a worry for tomorrow, Mako thinks to himself as he closes his eyes and tries not to think about the world of problems that await him when the sun comes up.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this can never end well, can it? This is roadrat, so we already know that Mako will have a lot more grey hairs before this is over. If all goes well and I can keep up my momentum, chapter 3 should be out sometime at the end of this week. 
> 
> And please remember to let me know what you think of this chapter via kudos or comments :) Thank you!
> 
> You can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit) or [Tumblr](https://rabbitvswonderland.tumblr.com/) if you're into that kind of play ^^


	3. The Mosquito

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's morning, and Mako wakes up and for a moment everything is okay. But then he remembers the dirty, little punk asleep on his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends, and welcome to chapter 3! I originally had a plan for how this chapter should end, but that didn't happen, and you shall never know how it was actually meant to end, mwahahaha!
> 
> Uh, anyway, read and hopefully enjoy! ^^;;

*

 

It takes a couple of minutes when Mako wakes up the next morning to figure out why his back is so stiff and his mind so troubled. It only takes one look around and one soft grunt from the bedroom before Mako remembers everything that happened the night before. Mako hears several joints cracking as he sits up on the couch and stretches his arms over his head, twisting his head to crack his neck, too. It feels like a hangover, but Mako hasn’t been drunk in years, not really on purpose, but he’s just never really felt like it. He leaves those kinds of pleasures to people younger than him.

            It’s still dark outside even though it’s almost 7:30AM, and Mako leans over to the windowsill to light the candles in his two Toxværd silver candlesticks. It’s not a lot of light, not really enough either, but Mako has a growing tension headache from sleeping on the couch all night, and stark electric light isn’t really what he’s in the mood for right now. Beside violently and suddenly flooding the apartment in light might cause the kid still snoring on his bed to wake up, and Mako isn’t really sure what the hell he’s going to do about that whole thing yet. He just sits there on the couch for a good while, staring at the candle flames and the streetlights outside. There’s a thick layer of snow on the cornice outside Mako’s windows, which means that the morning rush hour traffic will be chaos as it always is when there’s a heavy snowfall. You’d really think that a people that lives in a country where snow is a regular occurrence would be better prepared for it, but it seems to surprise them every time.

            Mako sighs and leans closer to the window to look down the street at Ana’s corner. There’s light inside the coffee shop, and Mako can even make out her silhouette behind the large glass façade. She’s probably readying everything for the first wave of creative, young souls in thick-rimmed glasses, beards and bowties on their way to class or work, desperate for their first shot of caffeine of the day. Mako could use some of that, too, come to think of it. He hasn’t slept very well, but although he doesn’t feel it right now, the lack of proper sleep is definitely going to come back and bite him in the ass later. It’s probably freezing outside, but Mako could just slip into some clothes and hurry into the coffee shop to get his morning usual. Of course, there’s the problem that’s current snoring and probably drooling on Mako’s pillow. Mako glances in the direction of the bedroom. Maybe if he was fast? He didn’t have to stay and chat either. He could just be in and out. He could even text Ana and ask her to have his order ready.

            Another grunt from the bedroom makes Mako shake his head at himself. No. There’s no way he’s leaving that kid alone with access to his apartment _and_ to the shop. He would never do that, not even if the kid hadn’t already tried to rob him once. He has files on clients, names, addresses, phone numbers, plus fuck knows how many valuable pieces of modernist design that would fetch a thief with just half a brain a very nice stack of cash online. No, he’s definitely not leaving Jamie alone in the apartment. The only other thing there is to do in this matter is to either wait until Jamie wakes up on his own or go wake him up.

            Either way, Mako needs to put on some clothes. Yesterday’s pants, shirt and pants are folded on the small end table next to the couch, and Mako grabs them as he gets up. There’s of course the fact that his wardrobe is in the bedroom where Jamie is currently sleeping, but judging from the sounds, it will take more than Mako slipping inside and getting dressed to wake him up. So that’s what Mako does; as silently as he possibly can, Mako slips into the bedroom and over to the wardrobe. He quickly takes off his boxer briefs and puts on a new pair before finding a fresh pair of pants, an undershirt, a button down shirt (dusty lavender that goes well with his brown skin and grey hair), and a pair of black socks. He gets dressed with his back to the bed, trying to ignore Jamie’s presence altogether. Once he’s dressed and his hair is tied into the usual bun, Mako takes a look in the full length mirror in the teak tree frame, hanging on the wall. It’s a far cry from how he used to dress, and Mako has to admit that he sometimes misses the smell and feel of leather against his skin, the leather gloves on his hands to grip the handlebar on his chopper, the bandana tied around his head, the thick boots on his feet, the gush of hot wind against his face…

            It’s not until then that Mako realizes that there’s a set of large, amber eyes watching him from the bed. The owner of the eyes is almost entirely hidden in the duvet and enormous bathrobe on the bed, but that only lasts a second once Mako meets the gaze in the mirror. Jamie’s head pokes out from the nest, and he continues to gaze at Mako in what looks like excited awe. Mako turns around to face him, ready for anything.

            “Yer arse is bonzer, mate!” Okay, he definitely hadn’t been ready for _that_.

            “What?” Mako isn’t even sure he actually heard what Jamie said.

            “Y’know, I just saw it when ya was gettin’ dressed, and I figured it’d be weird to tell ya when you was naked, so I waited,” Jamie explains as if this is perfectly logical.

            “You—you were awake?” Mako doesn’t really know how to feel about this.

            “Yeah, yeah, woke up when ye was changin’ yer knickers,” Jamie replies with a nod. “Fantastic arse, my friend. Gotta give ya that.” Jamie smiles earnestly at him, because apparently that’s a totally normal way to greet the perfect stranger who saved your life the previous night.

            “Uh, thanks, I guess,” Mako grunts, and he can’t help but notice the way his cheeks feel a bit warmer. It annoys him, but what can he really do? It’s not like he gets complimented every day. He’s still a bit confused as to why Jamie is taking things this well, because last time they saw each other, Mako almost beat him up and handed him over to the police. The kid can’t possibly have forgotten that.

            “How’re you feeling?” Mako asks him, trying to steer the conversation away from his ass, because the whole thing just seems absurd.

            “Right as rain!” Jamie says, grinning at Mako. “Never been better! Although…” His grin fades a bit.

            “What?”

            “Could ya maybe tell me, uh… Where am I, and who’re you?”

            Mako blinks, and for a moment, he doesn’t even know how to respond to that. Jamie notices his confused hesitation it seems.

            “It’s just, y’see, I don’t remember very well, and I reckon I was a bit off me rockers last night.” He grins sheepishly.

            “Yeah, you were,” Mako grunts and rubs over his face. “You were literally freezing to death, so I picked you up and brought you here. I live here.”

            “Blimey,” Jamie mutters, scratching his chin and screwing his face up as that will help him remember. “Yer a bloody great person then.”

            “I also promised you an ass-kicking if I ever saw you again, because you tried to steal a ring from me a couple of months ago,” Mako continues, and he’s surprised when Jamie just laughs.

            “Sounds like somethin’ I’d do, yeah!”

            “You mean, you don’t remember?”

            “Ring, yeah?” Jamie rubs over his face, clearly trying really hard to remember.

            “You commented on my tattoos,” Mako prods, rolling his sleeves up to show Jamie his tattooed arms (kind of redundant since Jamie has apparently seen him naked, but whatever). “I’m the kiwi?”

            “Tattoos?” Jamie leans closer to squint at Mako’s outstretched arms. “Oh, right! I remember those! Bloody ace, mate.”

            Mako is very confused by the whole thing, but Jamie just grins up at him, which only serves to confuse Mako even more. What the hell is this kid’s deal anyway? He could have died yesterday, and now he’s sitting here, grinning like an idiot like this happens to him every other day.

            “Say, mate,” Jamie says, lowering his voice a bit like he’s confiding a great secret to Mako. “Yer not still gonna kick me arse, are ya? Only I didn’t exactly waltz back here on me own accord, did I? I don’t reckon it should count.”

            Mako just stares at Jamie, unable to believe the kid’s nerve. This is not how people would normally respond to a near-death experience, is it? Mako can’t help but wonder if this happens so often that Jamie has just stopped making a big deal out of it. It’s kind of a sad thought.

            “Are you hungry?” he asks, trying to buy himself some time to figure out what to do. And damn it, he could really use some coffee at this point. He can feel a headache seriously coming on now, and the only thing that will cure it is caffeine and food. And possibly some divine intervention in the case of Jamie.

            “Mate, I don’t think there’s ever a time where I ain’t starvin’,” Jamie replies, looking excited.

            Mako nods and he’s about to tell Jamie to get dressed when he realizes that, fuck, he has left Jamie’s soaked clothes on the bathroom floor and not put them in the washing machine like he’d planned to.

            “Wait here,” Mako tells Jamie and goes to check and yep, the clothes are gross and damp, just like he suspected they would be. He might be a heartless ex-criminal, but there’s no way Mako is going to force Jamie to put these clothes on. That’s just inhumane. So Mako tosses the whole thing—except the leather jacket—into the washing machine downstairs. He’ll have to find some clothes for Jamie to wear until then, but he doesn’t really know where to start, because the only clothes Mako has are many, many sizes too big for Jamie. Mako absentminded looks over the leather jacket as he climbs the stairs up to the apartment from the wash room. It’s as worn as ever, and the shoulders and sleeves are lined with small metal studs. When he flips it over, Mako notices that there are several patches sewn onto the back of it. Most of them are weird smiley faces and band names Mako doesn’t recognize (except The Clash and Sex Pistols, he knows those), but the most dominant patch is a big one at the top, stretching from shoulder to shoulder of the jacket. It looks homemade. The black letters are sewn onto a strip of orange fabric, and the whole thing is secured to the jacket with a multitude of safety pins.

 

_Junkrat_

 

That’s what the letters spell out. A strange thing to write on a jacket, but then again, Mako doesn’t pretend he understands kids at all nowadays. That’s more Ana’s specialty.

            Jamie is still sitting on the bed when Mako returns with the jacket. The jacket is still damp like the rest of Jamie’s clothes, so Mako finds a coat hanger to hang the jacket on while it dries.

            “I’ve put your clothes in the washing machine,” Mako informs Jamie. “You’re gonna have to make do with some of mine for a while.”

            “Yer clothes?” Jamie blinks at him.

            “Yeah, just—” Mako gestures towards the wardrobe, “try and find something that fits you.”

            Mako has hardly finished his sentence when Jamie jumps off the bed and stalks over to the wardrobe only wearing his briefs. It’s kind of amazing to watch him move, because despite his long, skinny body, Jamie actually looks strong and nimble. The spell is broken when Jamie sticks his head into the wardrobe, leaning over a bit and scratches his ass. Mako grunts and looks away. It’s inappropriate to stare anyway.

            “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, heading for the door.

            “Yeah, yeah, great,” Jamie replies from inside the wardrobe, apparently too busy with going through Mako’s things to pay much attention to him. Mako closes the door behind him and tries to remember if he has anything of value in that wardrobe. He doesn’t, except a couple of tailored suits that he only uses when he’s meeting very important clients, and it’s not like Jamie could steal those suits and sell them.

            While he waits for Jamie, Mako folds the blanket he has slept with and sits down on the couch to open his mail. There are two new orders in from good clients, and Mako goes through the pages of the leather-bound notebook he uses for an overview of his inventory. He’s pretty sure he has Kähler and Salto vases that fit one client’s wishes. He’ll have to check up on that later. The other order is for a larger item that Mako doesn’t have in stock, but it shouldn’t take more than a couple of phone calls to his buyers to get them. Mako makes a couple of notes of which buyers he should contact, then taps his chin with the pen. Hasn’t Jamie been in there for a while now? It shouldn’t take that long to find something to wear.

            Mako is pretty sure he has a heart attack and a stroke at the very same time when he turns around to look at the bedroom door and finds that Jamie is standing right behind him. How the hell the kid has managed to sneak up on him like this, and even in an apartment where there’s not a single floorboard that doesn’t creak, is a complete mystery, because Mako is usually pretty great at not getting sneaked up on. But it seems like Jamie doesn’t know that Mako is supposed to be difficult to sneak up on, because it looks like it was pretty easy for him.

            “What the hell?!” Mako blurts out, embarrassment darkening his cheeks, and Jamie jumps a little.

            “Apologies, mate!” he grins sheepishly, holding up his hands—or rather, hand. Mako keeps forgetting that Jamie only has one hand. “Didn’t know ya was distracted.”

            “I’m not distracted, I’m working!” Mako growls, trying to shake the effects of the shock. It's then that Mako notices what Jamie is wearing; he has found one of Mako’s black Han Kjøbenhavn shirts that he had specially made. It is of course much too big for him, so Jamie has wrapped a tie around his waist like a belt. It makes the shirt look more like a dress than an actual shirt, and the sleeves are at least five inches too long. The whole getup makes Jamie straddle the categories of ridiculous, absurd, and adorable all at once, and it’s all very confusing to Mako. Jamie, however, looks proud of the outfit, and he actually does a little twirl.

            “What’cha think?” he asks Mako, hands on his skinny hips. “Pretty cool, eh?”

            “You’re not going outside in that,” Mako simply says.

            “Why not?”

            Mako just points to the snow falling past the window.

            “It’s snowing, and you’re not wearing any pants or shoes.”

            “Ain’t no fault of mine, mate!” Jamie argues. “Tried on everythin’, and it was too big, wasn’t it? This is the best I could do.”

            Mako sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He still doesn’t feel comfortable leaving Jamie alone here, but the headache is getting worse, and his blood sugar is getting lower by the second. Maybe if he just…?

            Mako digs out his phone and sends Ana a text. He considers for a second to lie to her, but that never ends well, and Ana always drags the truth out of him anyway, so it would just be a waste of time and energy. So Mako tells Ana the entire truth in his text and asks her if she has time to come by with two coffees and some food. Mako’s fridge is perpetually empty even though Ana bugs him to fill it up.

            It takes a while to write out the entire story, and though Jamie watches him for a moment, he seems to lose interest pretty quickly, because he starts roaming around the living room, leaning close to read the titles of the books on Mako’s shelves, picking up the expensive bowls and vases to study them. Mako doesn’t have a lot of knickknacks, but he does keep a couple of industrial design pieces, simply because he likes looking at them. His favorite is a large, brown-glazed, stoneware vase by Eva Stæhr-Nielsen that he has on display in a corner of the living room. Mako watches Jamie from the corner of his eye, and he can’t help but crack the tiniest of smiles at Jamie’s curiosity. He’s sniffing around like some kind of animal—maybe a rat? Mako has heard that they’re supposed to be very curious and actually really smart, too.

            “Why does your jacket say ‘Junkrat’?” Mako asks when he has sent the text to Ana. He puts the phone away and leans back on the couch to wait for the reply from Ana, fully expecting her to tease him about going soft.

            “It’s me nickname,” Jamie says, head halfway down the large vase. “Always had it.”

            Mako is about to tell Jamie that he once had a nickname, too, but he hasn’t actually told anyone that, not even Ana, and he’s a little taken aback at the urge to divulge that kind of personal information to a perfect stranger. So instead of telling Jamie anything, Mako settles for, “Why? Where did it come from?”

            Jamie pulls his head out of the vase and straightens up and abandons the vase to throw himself on the Pernilla chair next to the couch. Had it been anyone else—like someone with a normal bodyweight—Mako would probably have growled at them to be more careful, but the damage Jamie could do to that chair with his weight is so minimal that it hardly even registers with Mako.

            “Don’t remember,” Jamie replies with a shrug, tonguing one of the rings in his bottom lip. “Used to build stuff from scrap back in Adelaide. Prolly came from there.”

            “Hm,” Mako grunts in reply. It’s not difficult imagining Jamie hopping around a scrap heap. Maybe that’s how he lost his arm? A junkyard isn’t exactly a safe place, and Mako tries to ignore the instant flash of Jamie the little kid getting his arm stuck under an old car or something like that. He glances at adult Jamie and is relived when the horrific images in his head are totally dispelled when Jamie in the Pernilla chair pulls the tunnel out of his right ear and sticks his pinky finger through the hole, grinning at Mako.

            Mako is just about to comment on it when his phone buzzes. Ana will be over soon, and just because she doesn’t ask any questions in the text, Mako isn’t stupid enough to believe that she isn’t already telling Reinhardt about how Mako has had someone spend the night. These are going to be trying times, and Mako shouldn’t expect any support from Jamie who is likely to make everything worse just by existing. And then there’s the fact that Mako still hasn’t figured out what to do about Jamie. Jamie doesn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry to leave or even figure out what to do next, because he’s just lounging on the chair, looking around the room and up at the Snowball lamp hanging from the ceiling.

            “Where’d ya get all this old stuff from, mate?” he asks, biting the black painted nail on his index finger. “Looks ace. D’you like old stuff?”

            “I collect and sell it,” Mako replies. “I have the shop downstairs, remember?”

            “Oh, right!” Jamie nods, then twitches when there’s a knock coming from the shop.

            “Stay right there,” Mako tells him, pushing to his feet with a grunt. “Don’t move.”

            Mako glances over his shoulder at Jamie as he leaves the living room, making sure that Jamie is staying in place, which he is, and heads down the staircase from the tiny hall that leads down to the shop’s backroom. Ana is waiting outside the door to the shop, a paper bag in her hand and a smirk plastered onto her face. Mako almost doesn’t want to let her inside, but it would a dick move not to, because it's freezing outside. He just hopes that Jamie stays in place and doesn’t ruin or steal anything while Mako’s gone.

            “Mako, I’m very worried about you,” Ana says when he opens the door for her, and Mako is already rolling his eyes. “Picking up young men on the street? That’s not like you at all. You usually pick them up in bars.”

            Ana’s smirk is so wide that it looks like it’s about to jump off her face, and Mako just yanks the bag out of her hands with a huff.

            “He was literally freezing to death,” he hisses, looking into the bag and feeling pleased to see two large cups of coffee and three raspberry matcha scones; Mako’s favorite.

            “Mhm, right,” Ana just hums and looks around the shop. “You always pick up strangers out of the goodness of your heart. Where is he?”

            “You’re the worst person on the planet, and I hate you,” Mako grunts, but Ana just laughs at him. “I’m trying to be a good person here. This kid is basically freezing and starving to death on the street. Am I supposed to ju—?”

            “Bloody hell, is that coffee I smell? Give it here, mate, I’m dyin' of thirst!”

            Mako feels like he might keel over and die, and when he turns around, his worst fears are realized; Jamie is skipping down the stairs, still wearing Mako’s shirt and nothing else, and it just makes everything so, so much worse that Jamie doesn’t look the least bit sick or feeble. In fact, he grins at Ana before digging into the bag to find one of the coffees. He rips the lid off and inhales the steam coming from the paper cup.

            “Mmh, that’s the grouse stuff,” he groans and takes a large gulp, totally oblivious to the looks of rage on Mako’s face and the look of utter delight on Ana’s. Mako’s lips have turned into a very fine, pale line, and he can’t bring himself to look at Ana, but he just fucking _knows_ that he will never hear the end of this ever.

            “So, yer the old lady, eh? I’m Jamie,” Jamie says to Ana once he’s swallowed down the mouthful of coffee, wiping chin in the sleeve of Mako’s $300 shirt, and Mako dies a little inside.

            Ana gawks at him, then at Mako, and then starts laughing so hard she has to clutch her stomach. Jamie just grins at her, clearly confused. Mako would very much like to get struck by lightning right about now.

            “No, no,” Ana breathes, hiccupping a bit. “I’m just a friend. I own and run the coffee shop down the street. No, Mako’s just a friend.”

            “Who’s Mako?”

            “That’s me, you idiot,” Mako groans, rubbing over his face.

            “Really? That’s a brilliant name! Mako…” Jamie hums the name as if tasting it, and Ana is about to lose it again, so Mako decides that it’s time for her to go. She protests when Mako grabs her by the shoulders and steers her towards the door.

            “Jamie, come by the shop and see me!” she calls as Mako maneuvers her out the door. She waves at Jamie, who just grins and waves back, the large sleeve flopping around his skinny arm, and Mako is pretty sure that this is the worst day of his life,

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! Yaaay! That was it!
> 
> I'm on a pretty good roll these days, so I hope I can finish another chapter before the week is over, but we'll see... 
> 
> As always, please remember to leave kudos or comments if you liked the chapter ^^ It makes me so happy to get your feedback!
> 
> If you think I'm incredibly funny and/or interesting, you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit) or [Tumblr](https://rabbitvswonderland.tumblr.com/)!


	4. The Sawbuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako's image as a tough motherfucker is in ruins, and the fact that he just can't seem to make himself kick Jamie out doesn't help at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo and hello, friends! Not too much to say about this chapter other than it giving me a good deal of grief! I really wanted to skip, but the junk boys wouldn't let me. They insisted on acting out every little interaction between them.. ugh! What a hassle!
> 
> I hope y'all like this one, because I'm pretty sure I've thrown out my back in frustration ^^;;
> 
> Enjoy!

*

 

It has been almost 24 hours, and Mako is seriously considering seeing a neurologist, because there must be something terribly wrong with the part of his brain that is supposed to help him make logical, responsible decisions. It has been 24 long, long hours, and Mako is at his wit's end; why can’t he just kick the annoying, hyperactive kid to the curb and be done with him? Seriously, what’s wrong with him? There is literally nothing stopping him from doing it, so why can’t he do it? He’s even been close to doing it a couple of times, but every time he’s psyched himself up to do it, to tell the kid that he has to leave, Jamie has done or said something that has distracted him. Like when Jamie was putting on his clothes, which Mako had washed and dried for him, and Mako had been thinking that now was the time to throw the kid out, he had been halfway through the door to the bedroom where was Jamie was sitting on the bed when Jamie had dug into his sock and pulled out two coins.

            “Oh, ace! I was wonderin’ where those went!” Jamie had said with excitement and stuffed the coins into the pocket in his jeans.

            Mako had just been standing there in the door, gawking at him, and then promptly turned and fled. And now he’s standing here in the kitchen, scratching his chin and staring into his fridge and trying to figure out what to do for dinner. Normally, he would go out to a restaurant or have Ana bring over some leftovers, but neither of those things are happening, because Mako doesn’t want to take Jamie out, and he’s pretty sure he can’t deal with Ana’s smirk any more today. She’s already been pestering him over text messages, and Mako has pointedly ignored every single text she has sent him. He hasn’t gotten any work done today either, because he’s been too busy trying to figure out what the hell to do while simultaneously making sure Jamie didn’t broke something. He knows he should just kick the kid out, but every time he considers this, the memory of Jamie sitting on the stone step, frozen blue lips and a trembling grin as he had said, “I’ll suck yer cock for a fag and a meal” pop up in his head.

            It had just been so pathetic, so dangerous, and Mako can’t bring himself to throw Jamie back to that life. The thought of opening the newspaper one day to see a headline about a young homeless man found dead in the street is honestly more than enough to keep Mako from kicking Jamie out on his ass. It really pisses him off, because he had been pretty sure that he was over caring about people, especially strangers, but apparently not when it comes to Jamie.

            “What’cha cookin’, mate?”

            It’s the second time day that Jamie has managed to sneak up on Mako, and Mako honestly isn’t even mad, he’s just impressed at this point.

            “Nothing,” he grunts and closes the fridge. There’s nothing there but a couple of bottles of white wine anyway—he only keeps them there in case clients come by the shop. Mako sighs and looks up at the bakelite case wall clock hanging over his stove. The black hands are both pointing at 6, and it’s now Mako has to decide what he’s going to do about food, because he’s hungry and Jamie must be hungry, too.

            “We’re going shopping,” Mako announces and turns to look at Jamie, who has jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter, his long legs dangling over the edge.

            “We are?” he asks, looking up at Mako who, despite Jamie being long and sitting on the counter, still towers over him.

            “Yes. Get your jacket.”

            Mako leaves the kitchen to go to the little hall to put on his coat. He wraps the large scarf around his neck, and when Jamie comes back with his leather jacket on, Mako shoves a scarf and a woolly hat in his hand. The scarf looks normal on Jamie, but the hat looks ridiculous; it’s fitted to fit Mako’s head, not Jamie’s, and Jamie has to constantly push it up, because it keeps falling over his eyes. They’re not going to be gone for long, though, so it will do. Mako leads the way down the stairs with Jamie skipping after him. It seems like it’s impossible for the kid to just walk normally. He’s constantly half-running, skipping or twitching in one way or another, and even when Jamie’s not talking, Mako can tell his mind is working a hundred miles a second, experiencing what’s going on around him. Mako wonders if Jamie ever really shuts off outside of sleeping. It seems stressful and overwhelming to be Jamie.

            They both seem to shrink at least a couple of inches each as Mako opens the door to the shop and they step out into the winter air. It’s quiet and absolutely freezing. Even though it’s early evening, everything seems completely dead around them. People aren’t stupid enough to go outside unless it’s a life or death situation, but apparently Mako and Jamie are. The alley is quiet, and the snow is floating quietly down from the dark skies and past the light beams from the streetlamps. Mako and Jamie’s footsteps are muffled by the almost ten inches of snow on the sidewalks—the snow hasn’t been cleared here yet, and it’s so cold that the snow isn’t melting either.

            Mako stuffs his hands into his pockets and shuffles through the snow with Jamie by his side. They walk in silence, but Mako breaks it when he looks down and realizes that Jamie’s canvas sneakers are probably the worst possible shoes he could have worn except sandals. The red canvas is already soaked, and come to think of it, Jamie’s jeans with their many holes are not exactly winter clothing either.

            “Don’t you have any proper winter clothes?” Mako asks Jamie as they trudge through the snow.  “You’re gonna get sick in no time wearing that flimsy shit.”

            “Oh, uh,” Jamie says, sounding surprised as if he didn’t realize that jeans full of holes and ratty, old canvas shoes were awful for keeping warm. “No, don’t reckon I do. Don’t got any clothes but this.”

            “That’s all the clothes you own?” Mako can’t believe what he’s hearing.

            “Yeah,” Jamie replies, looking up and grinning at Mako—well, he would have been looking at Mako if it weren’t for the thick, knitted hat that slips down over his eyes. All Mako can see of Jamie’s face is his sheepish grin and his gold tooth. “Flat broke, mate. Ain’t even got salt for an egg.”

            “Where have you been staying? You can’t have slept on the street up until now. You would have frozen to death weeks ago.”

            Jamie shrugs. “Used to stay in this old house with some squatters. One of ‘em was a right cunt, though. Kicked me out when I wasn’t gonna bum him and his girlfriend.”

            “That, er… wow.”

            Jamie just shrugs again, still grinning. “Buncha wankers, all of ‘em, anyways. Better off without ‘em.”

            “Seems like you are,” Mako comments and turns a corner. Up until now, the air has been cold, but it has been okay because it isn’t windy. Or rather, Mako had thought it wasn’t windy, but it turns out that the building they have been walking along has just been shielding them. When they turn the corner, they’re met with a gush of wind that makes Mako cold to his very bones despite his thick wool coat. He doesn’t even dare imagine how cold Jamie is right now, because that torn, old leather jacket is about as warm as a pair of fishnet stocking. He glances sideways at Jamie, or rather where he expected Jamie to be, but there’s no one there. For a second, Mako panics.

            “Back here, mate!” Jamie’s voice calls from behind him, and Mako twists around to see Jamie grinning up at him. “Keep walkin’! Yer blocking the wind for me!”

            Mako huffs a quiet laugh behind the scarf that’s thankfully covering his nose and mouth, and he turns around again to continue down the street as a human windshield for Jamie.

            They’re both frozen stiff when they get to the supermarket, especially Jamie who is hunched over and curled into himself. He dances back and forth a bit when they get into the warm store, rubbing his skinny arms and thighs to get some blood flow going. The store is relatively empty (they have hit that magic hour where most people are already home eating dinner), so there’s thankfully no one there to hear him cursing. The supermarket isn’t very big, but that doesn’t stop it from being expensive as fuck. It solely sells fairtrade, organic, non-GMO, and what-else-have-you food, and even though Mako doesn’t really care that much about stuff like that, it’s the supermarket that’s closest to the shop, and he doesn’t shop food that often anyway. Jamie seems to like the shop, though, because once they get properly inside and start making their way down the aisles, he apparently forgets to be cold. His eyes go wider than normal as he looks around, bushy eyebrows traveling up his forehead.

            “Wow, this place looks fancy!” he mumbles, talking more to himself than to Mako, and sucks one of his lip piercings into his mouth. “Fuck me, never seen olive oil that pricy! Why do people even shop here?”

            “Some people care about that shit,” Mako grunts in reply as he grabs a cart and starts wheeling it down the aisle. He doesn’t really know what to buy, and Jamie is looking so impressed at the whole thing…

            “How about you decide what we’re getting for dinner,” Mako says, refusing to look Jamie in the eye as he suggests this. “I don’t know what you like anyway.”

            “Really, mate?”

            Mako still doesn’t look at Jamie as he grunts and nods, pretending to be very interested in a bottle of organic balsamic vinegar. He is forced to look, though, when it feels like the shopping cart has suddenly come alive. Turns out it hasn’t come alive, but Jamie has crawled into it, and he currently sitting in it with his long arms and legs draped over the sides of the cart.

            “Go forth then, my noble mate! I mean, steed!” he proclaims and laughs so heartily that Mako's urge to tip the cart over immediately subsides. It’s quickly replaced by absolute horror, though, because if Ana or maybe Reinhardt were to see him like this, it would surely be the end of his world. So Mako ducks his head a bit as if that’s going to help at all and speeds down the aisle, only pausing for a few seconds to let Jamie grab what he wants. Jamie thankfully seems to know exactly what he wants, because it only takes a short while before they’re coming up to the check-out. By then, Jamie is buried in a small mountain of cans of crushed tomatoes, pesto, various herbs, and more different kinds of vegetables than Mako has ever bought in his entire life. He casts a glance over it all, trying to figure out how much it will cost him (hint: it’s a lot!) when he realizes that there’s something missing.

            “You forgot the meat,” he says to Jamie, who’s just smiling and waving at the unimpressed cashier.

            “Nah, mate, I’m a vegetarian,” Jamie replies with an earnest smile at Mako as he tries to climb out of the cart without tipping it.

            “Seriously?”

            “Yep!” Jamie stumbles a bit on his way out of the cart and has to grab a hold of Mako’s arm to keep himself from falling. He weighs next to nothing.

            “Why?”

            “Can’t overthrow the government and be a slave to the meat factories at the same time, can I?” Jamie grins, and Mako notices that he’s still holding onto his arm. Mako tugs his arm free, but Jamie doesn’t seem to mind, because he just skips up to the counter to hand the groceries to the cashier.

            “You’re gonna overthrow the government?” Mako asks and hands Jamie a zucchini.

            “Well, I thought I was when I was 15, didn’t I?” Jamie snorts, shaking his head a bit. “Went to demos and everythin’, mate! Mostly went for the rootin’, mind you. Overthrowing the government is a lotta work.”

            “So you’re not about overthrowing the government anymore?”

            “Well, reckon I still am a bit,” Jamie hums, scratching his chin as if he’s never thought about that. “If I got the chance, I’d do it!”

            “That doesn’t really sound like a true revolutionary.”

            “I did said I was mostly in it for the rootin’,” Jamie snickers. “Anyways, I was always more into buildin’ the stuff, not actually usin’ it.”

            “What stuff?” Mako asks as he pays for the groceries and he’s about to grab both the filled shopping bags when Jamie shoves his hand away from one of them and grabs it instead.

            “Oh, ya know,” Jamie replies, shrugging as he adjusts the scarf and the knitted hat before lifting up the bag, “I reckon I can build ya whatever ya need from a pile of scrap. Give me yer ideas, and I shall make ‘em come to life!”

            Mako is honestly surprised, and he wants to ask Jamie if he lost his right arm in one of those bring-a-crazy-idea-to-life moments, but they’re already outside the shop.

            They don’t talk much on the way back to the shop; the wind has picked up, and Jamie is nearly blown off his feet a couple of times. Eventually, Mako has to put a hand on the middle of his back to keep him in place, and Jamie’s teeth are clattering loudly by the time they finally stumble through the door to the shop. His lips are blue again, and his shoes and socks are so wet, Mako can wring water from them. He ushers Jamie into the bathroom and tosses the Han Kjøbenhavn shirt after him; this is becoming a bad habit, Mako thinks to himself as he unloads the shopping bags in the kitchen while Jamie takes off the wet clothes.

            Half an hour later, Mako is sitting by the kitchen table, and Jamie is standing by the stove, once again wearing the large shirt, with his frozen feet soaking in a dishpan full of warm water, stirring the pot and humming and weirdly twitch-dancing to himself. He has chopped all the vegetables (“vedgies” as he calls them) and put them into the pot with some vegetable broth and a lot of pasta. It’s something called “one pot pasta”—Mako has never heard of it before, but it smells amazing, and it has honestly been kind of fascinating to watch Jamie cook with only one hand. Mako had half expected him to need help, but nope, he’s perfectly fine on his own. He uses his stump as much as he can, and if that doesn’t work, he’ll use his chin and chest as an extra hand. From the looks of it, Jamie is more proficient in a kitchen than Mako could ever hope to be. It makes the whole self-taught engineer thing seem even more realistic.

            “Stupid bloody—!” Jamie huffs when the too-long sleeve tumbles down his skinny arm and dips into the sauce in the pot. Mako is already on his feet, coming up behind Jamie to roll up both his sleeves so they won’t bother him. Jamie goes uncharacteristically silent when Mako does it, and Mako wonders if maybe he simply should have offered the help instead of just assuming. He does know that some disabled people prefer to do everything themselves, and maybe he offended Jamie by not waiting for him to ask for help? Mako reminds himself to let Jamie ask next time. Wait, next time? What next time? What the hell is he even doing? Why is Jamie still here, and why is he cooking dinner for Mako like they’re some old married couple? Mako doesn’t even know the kid, for chrissakes, and the longer the kid stays here, the harder it’s going to get to get rid of him.

            “You’re only spending the night,” Mako says before he loses his nerve and sits back down at the table before. “Tomorrow you leave. I have to work. I don’t have time for this.”

            “Right’o, mate, no problem,” Jamie just says. He sounds his usual cheerful self, but he doesn’t look at Mako, and Mako already feel like he’s about to be sick from the guilt.

            “Do, uh, do you have anywhere to go?” he mutters a few minutes later, staring down at Jamie’s feet in the water.

            “There’s a men’s shelter that don’t required state ID,” Jamie says, finally turning to look at Mako. He grins and shrugs. “Bit rough, but I reckon I’ll live.”

            This just makes Mako feel even worse, but he can’t go back on this now. It would make him look stupid and weak, and Mako hates looking weak. Last time he felt weak, he came to regret it dearly. Ugh. Mako shakes his head a bit.

            “You’re a big boy, you’ll be fine,” he grunts, and Jamie grins and agrees with him even though Mako is pretty sure they both know that staying at a shitty men’s shelter in the middle of winter is the opposite of “being fine”. It makes him feel even more awful about himself, and something must be done, so Mako pushes to his feet and opens the fridge. The wine is still in there, and he grabs a bottle, opens it and pours two glasses.

            “Here,” Mako grunts and slides one of the glasses across the table, towards Jamie by the stove. “Hope you like white wine.”

            “Mate, I like anythin’ that’ll fuck me up,” Jamie grins, and he grabs the glass and takes a swig. Mako nips at his, and damn, it’s actually really good. What excellent taste in wine he has.

            As it turns out, Mako isn’t the only one with excellent taste; Jamie’s one-pot-whatever is delicious, and Mako completely forgets that there’s no meat in it. The catastrophe is that it goes really well with the wine, and it doesn’t take very long before the bottle is empty. A man Mako’s size should be able to drink half a bottle of wine without feeling much, but it has been years since Mako has had more than a single glass, so his tolerance is stupidly low. Jamie seems somewhat affected, too, but it would be silly to expect otherwise given the fact that the kid has about zero body fat on him. Therefore, Mako decides, it would be best if he opened another bottle. Right? Right.

            “Okay, so let me get this straight,” Mako says, chewing another mouthful of that heavenly pasta dish, “you’re from Adelaide, born and bred. You like picking things apart—including the government—and putting them back together again. Your nickname is Junkrat, and you’re a vegetarian.”

            “S’right!” Jamie slurs, swiping a finger along the side of his white and blue Cathrineholm Lotus bowl to get the last of the sauce off. He sucks his finger with a happy hum.

            “Then how the fuck did you end up all the way up here?” Mako asks, refilling their glasses. “No green card, no job, no home, no friends… no proper winter clothes in northern Europe!”

            “Ah, y’know,” Jamie snorts, licking the sauce off his pierced lips before taking a gulp of the wine. “One thing leads to another, don’t it? Reckon I wanted to go join the IRA or somethin’. Prolly watched _Cryin’ Game_ too many times!”

            “Reckon? You mean you don’t remember?”

            Jamie shrugs and snorts again. “Pretty sure that was it. Wanted to fight, y’know? The Brits fucked over Ireland and Australia more or less the same, didn’t they? Plus, y’know, me nan was Irish, so I felt connected to the place. Anyways, when I get there, I realize that the battle is pretty much over! They’re all cozy now, so there ain’t no ruddy battle to join, is there?”

            Mako can’t help but snort out a laugh. His face feels hot.

            “Well, that’s complete bollocks, I thought!” Jamie goes on. “So I just drifted around for a while. Ended up here ‘bout two years ago, I think.”

            “And you’ve been staying with those squatters up until now?”

            “Here and there and anywhere,” Jamie grins and stretches his arms over his head. He scratches through his puffy hair with his stump, and Mako is once again gripped with curiosity.

            “How did that happen?” he asks, nodding towards Jamie’s missing arm.

            “This?” Jamie waves the stump at Mako with a snicker. “It didn’t. Was born like this. Me mam was pretty upset about it, too. She’d always wanted a rugby player. Never let me forget that, dear, old mam.”

            “What about the scar, though?”

            “Oh, I got that when I was fuckin’ about in a junkyard,” Jamie explains. “Tripped on somethin’ and ripped me stump open. Quite nasty, too! Had to get a fuckton of stitches. It was worth it, though, because now I can always make people think it was a croc that bit it off.” He snorts. “Stupid tossers.”

            That’s much less dramatic than Mako had envisioned, but it’s actually a bit comforting that at least some parts of Jamie’s life haven’t been strange and/or violent. Mako and Jamie share the second bottle while Jamie tells Mako more about his life growing up in Adelaide. Parts of it—not all of it, but parts of it are very familiar to Mako, especially the part about feeling like an outsider until finding a community that doesn’t fit the norm but still welcomes you. Something twists inside Mako’s chest, and he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so he gets to his feet, shoves the dirty plates into the sink before grabbing the last bottle of wine out of the fridge. It’s a bad idea. In fact, it’s probably the worst idea in the world, but since Mako is already on a slippery slope of awful ideas, he decides to just roll with it. At least for tonight.

            He grabs the glasses off the table and gestures for Jamie to follow him into the living room. It’s more comfortable here, and Mako can show Jamie a thing that he just remembered that he has.

            “Sit here,” Mako grunts and pats the couch (Wegner, GE 236, four seater, because Mako is a showoff even when there’s no one around). Jamie sits down and looks excited up at Mako like some kind of overgrown puppy dog. It’s unbearable to look at, so Mako quickly puts the bottle and glasses down on the coffee table before going over to one of the large bookshelves that cover most of the walls in here. He leafs through the small collection of records he has until he finds the right one. He glances over his shoulder at Jamie on the couch, but Jamie is busy looking through one of the large art books on the coffee table, and he isn’t watching Mako. Perfect. Mako turns his back to Jamie and slips the record out of the colorful cover and puts it on the player. He hasn’t listened to this record since he was a young man, but it seems like the perfect night to give it a fresh listen. He places the needle on the record, and the familiar scratch and soft crackling noise float out of the loudspeakers. Mako twists the volume knob up on high.

            The art book flies about four feet into the air when the loudspeakers two seconds later blares out a very loud and very famous guitar riff. Jamie looks like he’s about to have a heart attack, but then his pierced lips spread in a wide grin, and he’s on his feet on the couch, jumping and stomping as he wails out, “I am an anti-christ, I am an anarchist, don't know what I want, but I know how to get it, I want to destroy the passerby!” at the top of his lungs.

            Under normal circumstances, Mako would have strangled anyone treating his couch like that, but he just doesn’t care right now. Jamie is laughing and singing, and every time he jumps up, the too-large shirt balloons up around him, making him look like a giant, strange jellyfish for a brief moment. Before Mako knows it, he’s singing along with Jamie, bottle in one hand and the other tugging the hairband out of his hair so he can headbang to the music. He already knows in the back of his tingling, drunken mind that he’s going to regret doing this tomorrow, but then Jamie jumps onto his back, climbing onto his shoulders, and any worried or troublesome thoughts are squeezed out of Mako’s head by Jamie’s bare, and surprisingly strong, thighs.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was that! I don't know if you freaked out as hard as I did at that blink-and-you'll-miss-it bit of sexual tension between the boys, but I'm pretty sure I creamed my pants writing it. So yeah, please know that the people who write the slow burn fics are every bit as (if not more) sexually frustrated as you are reading it x)
> 
> Anywayyyy~ remember to leave me a comment or kudos if you liked my stuff. Your positive and/or constructive feedback is what keeps my fingers typing and my brain clicking. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	5. The Ant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo and happy chapter 5!
> 
> This one is slightly shorter than the other chapters have been so far. Originally, this should have been the ending to chapter 4, but the boys had other plans...
> 
> Enjoy!

*

 

Mako has never had a death wish; he has always been happy to be alive, especially since he left New Zealand behind. Not that there’s been a bounce in his step or he’s been whistling along with the birds everywhere he’s gone, but he’s been pleased, satisfied, and content being alive. He’s not happy to be alive right now, though. His eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of his skull, and his neck is so sore he can hardly lift his head when he wakes up the next morning. And then, of course, there’s the fact that he doesn’t wake up in his bed or even on the couch. No, Mako wakes up in the middle of the living room floor, half rolled up in the rag rug. He has been using the bunched up Han Kjøbenhavn shirt as a pillow, and for a moment he wonders if maybe Jamie has changed into his regular clothes during the evening. It only takes one look around the room, however, to realize that nope, Jamie sure hasn’t! Jamie is on the couch, arm hanging over the edge and his face buried in the cushions. He’s not naked. No, he’s wearing his briefs, but he’s managed to somehow give himself a wedgie, because Mako has a full, unobstructed view of Jamie’s butt cheeks. They’re pale, freckled, and of fucking course there’s a rat tattoo on one of them. It looks homemade, too, and Mako has no clue how the hell Jamie has managed to tattoo his own ass, and he doesn’t really want to know either. Mako huffs and covers his eyes, trying to piece together last night in his throbbing head.

            The coffee table reveals some of what happened, namely the empty wine bottles and the burned down candles, but Mako is pretty sure he remembers loud punk music and lots of talking and laughing. He’s not exactly sure what he might have said, but there’s a deep sense of dread in his gut that he might have said too much, maybe revealed stuff about himself and his past that shouldn’t have been revealed, especially not to a stranger. Didn’t Jamie ask him about his tattoos? What they meant? Shit, what did Mako tell him? Mako groans and sighs, trying to ignore the headache pounding between his temples and swallow down the nausea that’s bubbling somewhere down his esophagus.

            “Nah, mate, s’all good,” Jamie mumbles and shuffles on the couch. Mako quickly looks up, but Jamie is still fast asleep. He has turned so he’s facing Mako, and he’s smiling. Whatever it is he’s dreaming, it must be pleasant, and Mako forgets his dread for a moment in favor of staring at Jamie’s sleep flushed face. It’s weird how someone as energetic and loud can look that peaceful. Jamie’s puffy hair is still puffy, but it’s sticking out at odd angles, and he looks kind of ridiculous. Mako actually catches himself smiling as he looks at Jamie, and that shit has to stop right now, so he gets up, gritting his teeth, because fuck, his body is broken from whatever shenanigans they got up to last night. Mako doesn’t complain, though; at least not verbally, because he doesn’t want to wake Jamie up. He’s definitely not ready to face the consequences of last night just yet.

            So to escape said consequences, Mako quietly shuffles into the kitchen to get some water. He hasn’t felt this hung over since his teens, and it’s not a joyous reunion at all. Mako groans as he leans over the sink to splash some cold water on his face. It helps a little, but what Mako really needs is a nice, big cup of coffee. But that would involve getting dressed properly, going outside, and—worst of all—facing Ana and possibly Reinhardt, and Mako really isn’t up for that. Despite not being married or even dating, Ana and Reinhardt act like an old married couple, and it would surprise Mako a lot if Reinhardt doesn't know every single detail about Ana’s encounter with Jamie yesterday. The only other option is brewing some coffee himself on his shitty little coffeemaker. Mako has gotten so used to getting his coffee from Ana that he hasn’t been brewing coffee for himself for years. Does he even remember how to do it anymore? And does he even have any coffee?

            Mako rummages through the kitchen cabinets, and he’s just about to get desperate when he locates an old bag of ground gourmet coffee beans. He pours water onto the coffeemaker, adds a filter and the ground beans, then sits down by the kitchen table to stare at it. The little machine begins to splutter after a while, and Mako draws a sigh of relief when the first couple of golden brown drops plop against the bottom of the carafe. The little machine seems to chug along nicely on its own, so Mako gets up to go into the bedroom and get into some proper clothes. Jamie is still snoring on the couch, and he’s even mumbling something that Mako can’t really hear. Mako just tiptoes past him on his way to the bedroom, still not in the mood to face the consequences of last night. He leaves the door ajar behind him, then finds pants, underwear, and a shirt to wear. He really should take a shower, but his bathroom is tiny, and the thought of having to walk through the apartment in nothing but a towel with Jamie still here isn’t really on the top of the list of things Mako wants to happen. So he ignores his poignant armpits and quickly wriggles out of his clothes.

            It’s timed more or less perfectly to when Mako has tugged on a fresh pair of black boxer briefs; a very loud and strange-sounding popping noise comes from the kitchen—kind of sounds like a cross between a steam engine pooping out and a case of very violent hiccups—and Mako rushes out of the bedroom in nothing but his underwear. When he pushes the door to the kitchen open, the room is full of steam, and it’s almost like a sauna in there. The little coffee machine is popping and belching, as if possessed by a very impolite ghost, and it’s spilling hot water all over the counter.

            “God damn it!” Mako groans, and it’s followed by an even louder profanity when he tries to pull the plug on the coffee machine and instead ends up scalding his fingers instead. He manages to unplug the machine, though, and then hurries to run his scalded fingers under the cold water while trying to figure out what to do next.

            “Hooley dooley, what the bloody hell happened in here?”

            Jamie is standing in the door to the kitchen, looking around at the chaos unfolding in front of him and still only wearing his briefs. Mako is mortified, but Jamie doesn’t seem to mind or even notice much. He simply walks up to the devil coffee machine and pokes it with a thoughtful look on his sleep flushed face.

            “Looks broken, mate,” he notes, and Mako huffs.

            “You don’t say.”

            “Ya got any tools? Could prolly fix that for ya in a jiffy.”

            “In the workshop downstairs,” Mako replies before he can stop himself.

            “Right’o, be right back!” And then Jamie is gone. Mako wants to follow him, make sure that he doesn’t break anything, but his fingers throb painfully the second he removes them from the cold splash of water, so he can’t go anywhere. It’s probably okay, though. Jamie has been here for two days now, and he hasn’t broken or stolen anything yet. It’s fine.

            But everything isn’t fine. Not at all. Because while Mako waits for Jamie to return, there’s suddenly a knock on the shop door downstairs. Mako can’t move, and before he can holler to Jamie that he should just ignore whoever it is, the sound of the bell over the door dings out. To Mako’s absolute and utmost horror, the voices of Ana and Reinhardt float up from the shop, followed by Jamie cheerfully informing them that Mako’s upstairs. And then comes the sound of footsteps up the stairs, and Mako feels the life slowly drain out of him.

            There are two ways Mako can choose to deal with this; he can either run and hide and try to ignore his throbbing fingers, or he can meet the humiliation head on, stand tall and refuse to be embarrassed. Mako chooses the latter option, because he’s a grown man, god damn it, and he will not hide in his own home. However, that's a lot easier said than done when he looks up and meets Ana’s gaze. She’s standing in the door to the kitchen, holding a paper bag of what is most likely coffee and breakfast, and Mako has never seen her look that smug before. Reinhardt is towering behind her, looking extremely confused.

            It’s around this time, when Jamie slips past Ana and Reinhardt with a toolbox in his hand, that Mako realizes something that makes him want to choose the option of running and hiding after all; he and Jamie are in their underwear and nothing else.

            “Well—” Ana begins.

            “Don’t,” Mako snarls, and she bites her bottom lip as her faces turns increasingly flushed. She’s trying really hard not to laugh, and she has to draw a couple of deep, shaky breaths.

            “Mako, my friend,” Reinhardt booms, happy and slightly confused as always, “I don’t think your counter will benefit from all that water. The wood will get too damp.”

            “You don’t say,” Mako remarks in a tone so dry, it might have dried up the entire kitchen if such a thing was possible. “The damn coffeemaker—”

            “Oi, mate, could ya hold this?” Jamie interrupts him, shoving a screwdriver into Reinhardt’s hand. “Trying to get this bloody thing open.”

            “Try the wrench,” Reinhardt comments, and one second later, Jamie and Reinhardt are deep in serious conversation about how best to fix the coffeemaker. Ana and Mako exchange looks before Ana nods at Mako’s fingers under the cold water with a puzzled look on her face.

            “Scalded my fingers,” Mako grunts and turns off the tap with his healthy hand. His fingers still tingle painfully, but he can stand it now.

            “Why don’t you get some clothes on while I find some bandages for you?” Ana suggests gently, and Mako can’t help offering her a tiny smile; she will tease him mercilessly for hours and hours, but the second she senses that his energy and patience are running out, she will lay off immediately. He nods and leaves the kitchen—Jamie and Reinhardt don’t even notice—and goes into the bedroom to put on the clothes he’d laid out earlier. It occurs to him that Jamie is still only wearing his underpants, but he doesn’t really care at this point.

Ana is waiting for him in the living room when he is dressed. There’s a large cup of hot coffee and a plate with muffins on the coffee table that she has cleared of empty bottles. She smiles softly as him as he sits down, and she takes his hand without a word and begins to treat his scalded fingers with aloe vera lotion. Mako stares very pointedly down at her slender, brown fingers as they eventually wrap his index and middle finger in bandages. The coffee on the table smells really good.

“There,” Ana says and gives his knee a squeeze before handing him the coffee cup. “Keep the bandages on for 24 hours, then take it off so the skin can breathe. Should be back to normal in a couple of days.”

“Thanks,” Mako grunts and takes a sip of the coffee. It’s so good, so warm and soothing, and Mako lets out a deep sigh as the pressure behind his eyes slowly start easing up with every sip.

            “So,” Ana says carefully after a moment in silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            “There’s nothing to talk about!” Mako huffs and finally meets her gaze. “He’s just a stupid kid I picked up so he wouldn’t freeze to death. I fed him and made sure he was okay, but that’s it. He’s leaving today.”

            “To go where?”

            “Fucked if I know,” Mako grunts with a shrug. “Some men’s shelter. Maybe back on the street. I don’t give a shit. I did more than enough for this ki— _ow!_ What the hell was that for?!”

            Ana has grabbed Mako by the edge of his ear and squeezed hard, and she’s not letting go.

            “Mako Rutledge,” Ana hisses at him, and Mako feels like he just visibly shrunk a foot under her furious gaze. “Don’t you dare letting that kid go back to the streets or _wallah_ , I will make you regret it.”

            “He’s a grown man!” Mako argues, trying to wrestle Ana’s hand away from his sore ear, but her grip is like a pincer. “It’s not my prob—!”

            “He became your problem when you took him in,” Ana counters, her lips a thin, pale line. “Deal with it.”

            “Fine, fine! I won’t kick him out. Shit, please let go!” Mako groans, and he rubs his pink ear when Ana finally lets him go. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t just let him stay here.”

            “I don’t see why not,” Ana says, beaming at him like nothing happened. “He could sleep on the couch, or you could clear out that little storage room in the shop. You could use some help with the shop, and you could especially use some company.”

            “But—!” Mako starts, but Ana makes a grab for his ear, and he quick dodges. “Alright, fine! _Jesus!_ I’ll clear the fucking storage room for him.”

            “Good.” Ana smiles at him and offers him a muffin. Mako just grunts and snatches it off the plate. He hates when she’s right, because she usually is, and right now is no exception; Mako does need some help with the general maintenance of the shop, and it would be nice to have someone to look after it while Mako is out on auctions and meetings with clients. Maybe he could even teach Jamie to restore some of the more battered pieces Mako gets? It would be a lot quicker if he didn’t have to do everything by himself, and time is money in this business like in any other business.

            Mako groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. How the hell did he end up like this? Ana just looks extremely pleased with herself, and judging from the laughter and banter coming from the kitchen, Mako shouldn’t count on Reinhardt for support to kick Jamie out either.

            The headache is almost gone, but Mako is still pinching his nose by the time Jamie and Reinhardt come back from the kitchen. Jamie is still in those fucking briefs, and Mako just really wishes he would take them off. Wait, no, Mako wants Jamie to taken some pants _on_! Damn it.

            “All patched up!” Jamie says happily, swiping a muffin off the plate and taking a massive bite. “Shouldn’t give ya any grief now, mate.”

            “Great,” Mako huffs tersely.

            “Reinhardt, we should get going,” Ana says, getting up from the couch. “It’s time to open the coffee shop.”

            “But what about—? Ah. Right.”

            Mako doesn’t look up to see what changed Reinhardt’s mind, but he can guess it was one of Ana’s famous glares. Reinhardt and Ana quickly bid him and Jamie farewell, then leave the apartment. Mako can hear the shop’s door open and close a moment later.

            “Nice, ol’ geezers,” Jamie comments as he flings himself onto the couch, taking another bite of muffin. “That big bloke is a mad cunt with a screwdriver. What’s he do?”

            “He own a clock repair shop,” Mako mutters, staring down into his coffee cup.

            “Huh, makes sense,” Jamie hums, stretching a bit, and his naked feet brush against Mako’s thigh. “Why’d they leave so fast?”

            “Because we need to talk about you staying here,” Mako says, finally looking up and turning a little in his seat to face Jamie. The lazy grin on Jamie’s face falters, and he pulls his feet back, shifting to sit up straight on the couch.

            “Right, uh, reckoned we’d get to that sooner or later,” he says, chewing a bit on his pierced bottom lip. “I’ll get me things right away, mate, no worries. Might still be room at the shelter if I get there early.”

            “Listen, kid,” Mako says, but Jamie is already pushing to his feet with a determined look on his freckled face.

            “Nah, mate, I’ll be apples,” he says and grins at Mako. “Lived through worse, haven’t I?”

            “Just shut up and listen,” Mako huffs, rolling his eyes and already regretting that Ana made him agree to this. “You don’t have to leave.”

            “I—what?” Jamie just gawks at him.

            “You don’t have to leave,” Mako repeats with a huff, getting increasingly angry at the way his cheeks go warm. “If you want to stay, you can. I’ll clear a room for you down at the shop, and I’ll give you room and board if you mind the shop when I’m out.”

            “Really, mate?” Jamie looks rocked to his very core.

            “Yeah,” Mako grunts, and something very small and very soft twitches deep inside his chest when he looks into Jamie’s wide, amber eyes. Mako had never noticed their color before, but he sees it now; it’s a pretty unique color, and Mako isn’t sure he’s ever before seen anyone with eyes like these. They’re pretty mesmerizing, and it’s not until Jamie blinks after what feels like an eternity that Mako finally breaks eye contact. He scratches the back of his neck, then pushes to his feet and gives Jamie’s shoulder an awkward pat.

            “Go get dressed,” he grunts as he walks past Jamie and heads for the stairs that lead down to the shop. “I’ll start clearing your new room.”

            Jamie just stares after him with those big, amber eyes, and Mako would normally have stayed and asked him if he’s okay, but Mako is busy getting out of sight, because he’s pretty sure his heart is about to hammer its way out his chest.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and thanks for reading! I hope you liked the chapter ^^
> 
> As I have before, I encourage Arabic-speaking people to correct me if I fuck up your language! :3 And generally, please let me know if you stumble over typos or the likes. I'm usually too eager to share to wait to do a proofread, but I try to catch as many errors as I can before posting.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! See you next chapter, which probably won't be too far off ^^


	6. The Shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mako learns about all the things you can do (and get caught doing) when you have a Jamie living in your shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings and salutations! Welcome to chapter 6!  
> This is the chapter where the story finally starts living up to its rating~
> 
> Enjoy!

*

 

Mako is not exactly known for being a generous man (Ana knows better), and that suits him well. He likes that people are intimidated by him; he likes that people move out of his way when he’s walking down the street, and he likes that his looks alone are usually enough to dissuade people from trying to trick him. He likes being known as a hardass, and up until very recently, Mako had actually thought he was a hardass. But then some little, Australian punk came long and messed everything up, and Mako doesn’t really know what to do with himself anymore—he has made Ana swear on her shop that she will never tell anyone how Jamie came to stay with him, because that would surely shatter his rep in the business, and Mako needs that rep to get the best prices.

            Dealing with emotions and feeling of being weak—even the idea of possibly having a weak spot—sends Mako spiraling into a minor anxiety attack, so after he has told Jamie he can stay, Mako hides in the storage room for hours. He doesn’t even care that Jamie is roaming the apartment alone, because there’s no way he can deal with that kid right now. So Mako clears the room very slowly and very thoroughly instead of facing Jamie. The storage is actually an old bedroom (this used to be an apartment, too), and the built-in closet with teak doors is still in place. Every last inch of the room is covered in stacks of papers, old chairs that need to be repaired, vases, footstools, books, and a lot of other stuff that Mako couldn’t find space for out in the main room of the shop. But now it has to go.

            The papers are packed onto the top shelf of the closet, and the vases and other ceramics are placed around the shop—most of them are worth nothing, but Mako’s sure he can sell them with a small profit if some tourist should drop by like they usually do in the summer. He stacks the chairs in the workshop, and it’s actually good that he gets them out of the storage, because then he might finally fix them so they can be sold. The books go into the old bookcase he has put up against the wall. It actually feels really good doing this, and Mako feels like the more clutter he removes from the room, the more clutter he removes from his head, too. The best part of the day is what he finds an old Wegner daybed GE-258 in teak and moss green upholstery, because he had been wondering what he has going to do for a bed for Jamie. It’s almost a shame not to sell the daybed, but it looks kind of nice where it is now, next to the bookcase—Mako even lugs in a desk he hasn’t been able to sell so Jamie has something to sit at and read or whatever he wants to do.

            Speaking of Jamie… Mako hasn’t heard a peep from him all afternoon, and although Mako had told himself he didn’t care if Jamie was alone in the apartment for that long, part of him does care now. The anxiety is more or less gone, so Mako climbs the stairs to the apartment, part worried and part excited to show Jamie his new room. However, there is no sign of Jamie in the living room where Mako left him, but the coffee table has been cleared, and the pillows and cushions on the couch have been fluffed and straightened. Mako is a little confused until he hears off-key humming coming from the kitchen. Jamie is in there, finally wearing more than just his briefs. He has pulled on his jeans (it’s honestly a miracle that they haven’t dissolved completely considering how many holes there are in them) and his shitty, old t-shirt, and he’s currently knelt on the floor, wiping the tiles with a large wad of paper towels.

            “What are you doing?” Mako asks him, looking around the kitchen. He’s pretty sure he has never seen his kitchen look this clean, ever.

            “Oh, hey, mate!” Jamie looks up and grins toothily at Mako. “Just, y’know, I was cleanin’ up after the ruddy coffeemaker exploded, and I s’pose I get a bit carried away.”

            “You cleaned my kitchen?” Mako is stunned.

            “Kinda did, yeah,” Jamie snickers, and he pushes to his feet. “D’you like it?”

            “Yeah,” Mako grunts, still looking around. “Thanks.”

            “Uh, anyway,” Jamie says, sounding a bit awkward as he scratches his cheek, “just a small way fer me to show me appreciation. Let me know if there’s anythin’ else I can do, yeah?”

            “Right,” Mako replies, and he suddenly feels about as awkward as Jamie sounds. “I, uh, I cleared the room for you. Come and see.”

            Mako isn’t exactly sure how it’s physically possible, but Jamie’s eyes, which are pretty big to begin with, grow even bigger when he sees the room Mako has made for him. He walks into the room without a word, and then spends a few moments touching every single piece of furniture in there. He lets his fingers glides over the polished teak tree of the daybed, then splays his fingers over the smooth surface of the desk before poking at the desk lamp Mako has put there with a small, “Huh.”

            “Well?” Mako prods, shifting his weight a bit. Why is he so damn jittery?

            “I love it!” Jamie exclaims, turning around to beam at Mako. “Mate, really, s’too much. Haven’t had a room like this since me old room at mam’s, and that wasn’t even half as ace as this!”

            Mako wants to say that it’s really not that big a deal, the storage badly needed to be cleared anyway, but before he can open his mouth to say anything, Jamie has walked up to him, gotten onto his toes to give him a one armed hug.

            “Thanks, mate,” he says, and Mako can feel his jaw muscles move against his cheek. “That’s’ the nicest thing anyone’s ever done fer me.” Jamie’s cheek is warm and smooth, and his puffy hair is tickling Mako’s nose.

            “Yeah, well,” Mako huffs while awkwardly patting Jamie’s back, “don’t break any of the furniture. I was actually going to try and sell them…”

            “Right, right, mate, no worries!” Jamie says, sniffling briefly and wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he pulls out of the hug. He crawls onto the bed to test the mattress. It’s not the world’s softest mattress, but it will have to do for now. Mako feels for a brief moment an urge to sit down on the bed, too, just to test the mattress, of course, but that would be weird. He has work to do, anyway.

            “Get settled,” he tells Jamie. “I have work to do.”

            “Gotcha!” Jamie says happily, already off the bed again to inspect the old books in the bookcase. Seems like that will be enough to keep him busy for a while.

            Mako is heading into the tiny office next to the workshop when his stomach growls and he’s reminded that he hasn’t eaten lunch yet, and neither has Jamie. Mako wonders whether Jamie is too polite to complain (a likely story!) or if he’s just so used to going hungry that he doesn’t notice it anymore. _‘I’ll suck yer dick for a fag and a meal…’_ Those words still ring in Mako’s head, and he doesn’t know how to make them go away. It’s like they knocked something loose deep inside him, and without really thinking about it, Mako swears right then and there that he will never let Jamie get that far out again. He sighs, rubs over his face, then turns around and walks back to Jamie’s room.

            “Hey,” Mako grunts, tapping on Jamie’s door. “You hungry?”

            “I’m always hungry!” Jamie replies, opening the door and poking his head out. “No need to knock, mate. S’yer shop, innit?”

            “Yeah, but it’s your room now,” Mako says. “Don’t want to barge in on you if you want privacy.”

            A wide grin spreads on Jamie’s face, and Mako just _knows_ that he’s thinking about something nasty. Jamie doesn’t say as much, though. He just tugs his shitty sneakers on and bounds out the door, leaving Mako wondering how the hell he can constantly have so much energy. Speaking of shitty sneakers…

            “Before we do anything else,” Mako says as he wraps his thick scarf around his neck and tugs on his coat, “we’re going to get you some proper shoes. And a proper jacket. You know what, you really need some more clothes.”

            “Whaddya mean? I’ve got—!”

            “You have _one_ set of clothes, and it sucks ass,” Mako interrupts Jamie.

            “Is that s’posed to be bad?” Jamie smirks.

            “Yes.” Mako shakes his head. “I’m taking you to Goodwill, and you’re not leaving until you’ve picked out at least three sets of clothes.”

            “Well, yer the boss, mate!” Jamie says with a dramatic sigh and a snicker. “Yer word is law.”

            “You’re damn right it is,” Mako grunts, and he can’t help but smile a bit, so he hurries to look away. “Come on.”

            It’s not as bone-chillingly freezing outside as it was yesterday, and most of the snow has melted. In fact, the sun is actually out, but Mako knows better than to think the tide is turning, cold-wise. It’s only late November, and there’s at least another three months of winter left before spring comes, and even then, it’s probably not going to get milder until Easter. The wind has eased off, too, so Jamie can actually walk next to Mako without being blown off his feet, and he does so, happily chattering away as they make their way through the city. It’s just after lunch time, so the streets aren’t too busy, and even Ana’s coffee shop looks relatively empty—at least she’s not too busy to grin and wave at Mako as they pass by the glass front of her shop. Mako just scowls at her.

            “…and I’ve wanted to go to that paper island place,” Jamie prattles on as they turn the corner. “Heard they got some bangin’ tucker out there.”

            “What? A paper island?” Mako hasn’t really been listening.

            “It’s called Paper Island,” Jamie explains. “S’like an old industrial place or somethin’. Buncha bleedin’ hipsters bought it and put up food stands. I hate hipsters, but the food’s s’posed to be brilliant. It’s down in the harbor.”

            “Hrm.”

            “I’d wager there’d even be somethin’ you’d like,” Jamie says with a grin and elbows Mako’s arm. “It’s not all chia and tofu, y’know.”

            “I guess we could go there some day,” Mako grunts, a little disturbed at how familiar Jamie already is with him. They’ve only known each other for a few days, and Jamie is already interacting with him like they’ve been friends forever. It feels strange and a little overwhelming, to be honest. Mako has known Ana for almost 15 years, but it had taken a good part of two years before they started getting closer to each other. It had taken Ana years, but Jamie has traversed the moat and stonewall Mako has put around himself to shield himself, and the worst part of the whole ordeal is that Jamie has done it with absolutely no effort whatsoever and without Mako noticing it until it was too late. How the hell did that happen? Mako glances sideways at Jamie, who has veered into a long rant about how much he loves grilled tofu and how he and his friends back in Australia would spend several days on the beach, drinking and goofing around, and how the flavor of grilled tofu always reminds him of those times.

            “Why don’t you go back to Australia?” Mako asks him, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Sounds like you miss it.”

            “Eh.” Jamie shrugs. “Dunno. Burned a few bridges. Reckon no one’s missin’ me down under.”

            “What about your family?”

            Jamie just shakes his head and grins up at Mako. His gold tooth glints in the crisp winter sunlight. It’s hard to imagine someone like Jamie not having a ton of devoted friends and family; he’s so—well, so easy to be familiar with. Or maybe it’s just Mako who thinks that? He supposes that others might find Jamie annoying and frustrating, and honestly, Mako is one of those people, but there’s something else, too. He can’t really put it into words, or even coherent thoughts, really, but maybe he and Jamie are like two puzzle pieces from two different puzzles, and they’re both sufficiently broken, so their broken edges somehow make them fit perfectly together even though they were never meant to fit together. Or something like that? Mako shakes his head. He really needs to stop thinking so much about it, because it’s making him feel weird. They’re at the Goodwill now, anyway.

            “Three sets of clothes, at least, and some boots and a winter jacket,” Mako tells Jamie as they enter the shop. It’s pretty big, and because it’s located in a fancy part of town, it usually has some real quality stuff (all the clothes and shoes the rich people and their kids don’t want anymore).

            “Anything I want?” Jamie asks as if he didn’t actually believed Mako earlier. “Really?”

            “Yeah,” Mako hums. “One of the sets has to be nice. I don’t want you looking like a hobo when you’re minding the shop.”

            “Gotcha!” Jamie heads down the long rows of clothes, leafing through the hangers and humming happily to himself. Mako watches him for a while, then turns away to go look at the small collection of watches there’s on display. He doesn’t actually need another watch—he has plenty—but every now and then, he will discover a hidden gem that he can sell with a big, fat profit. Doesn’t look like he’s in luck today, though; the only watches on display today are shitty plastic or cheap copies of famous brands. Mako is just about to turn away when he spots a black and white Mickey Mouse watch that looks like it dates back to the 70s. It’s worth nothing, and it’s probably not even a real Disney product. Mickey Mouse’s features are slightly distorted, making him look kind of sinister, and his tail is a lot thicker than normal, making him look more like a rat than a mouse.

            “How much is that?” Mako asks the old lady behind the counter and points at the watch. The lady looks at the watch, then at Mako, then back at the watch.

            “$5.”

            “I’ll take it,” Mako says and hands her a bill. He pockets the watch when the lady hands it to him, then turns to see how far Jamie has come. He has to spend a moment looking up and down the rows of clothes before he finally spots Jamie down at the end of one of the rows. At least he spots what he suspects is Jamie but in reality is an enormous pile of clothes on two skinny legs. Most of the clothes are black, but there are some extremely bright colors among all the black.

            “How’s it going?” Mako asks as he comes up next to the walking pile.

            “Brilliantly,” Jamie replies, poking his head out of the pile to beam up at Mako. “Only there’s too much. I can’t choose.”

            “Just get all of it,” Mako hums distractedly as he picks a shirt off the pile to inspect it. It’s bright bubblegum pink, and there’s a faded, glittery print of a cartoon pony on the front. Just as faded, ornate letters spell out “Sparkle Pony Princess”. Mako looks from the print to Jamie’s face, then back at the print again before huffing out a soft laugh; the shirt is ridiculous and clearly meant to be worn by a 6 year old girl, but it’s perfect for Jamie somehow, and Mako just puts the shirt back on top of the pile.

            “All of it?” Jamie gawks up at him.

            “That’s what I said,” Mako grunts.

            “But I haven’t even found any boots yet.”

            “Then find some while I get this bagged,” Mako says, and Jamie unloads the pile into his arms. “And make sure they’re warm and waterproof.”

            “Yer sure, mate?” Jamie asks him, eyeing the clothes.

            “Are you deaf? Just get to it.”

            “Right’o, mate!” Jamie grins and scampers off to the shoe section while Mako carries the clothes up to the counter. The lady looks both excited and exhausted at the pile, but she doesn’t comment as she begins scanning and folding the clothes. She does give Mako a look when she scans some of the more eccentric items (turns out the pony shirt was only one of many weird choices of clothes for a grown man), and Mako just shrugs at her and shakes his head. He has no idea why Jamie would choose those clothes either.

            “Alright, all done!” Jamie says, coming up behind Mako. He places a pair of bright red rubber boots by Ilse Jacobsen (an amazing find in a shop like this!) on the counter. They’re the kind with laces, and these laces are screaming turquoise. It looks like they were installed by the previous owner, who also saw fit to don the boots with several heart stickers. They’re mostly peeled off or faded, but Jamie doesn’t seem to care, because he looks at the boots like he’s found a treasure. What does Mako know about fashion or what kids want these days anyway? Mako only knows about old furniture. He pays for the whole thing, and it’s stupidly cheap considering that both he and Jamie are dragging two filled bags each by the time they leave the shop. Jamie has already put on the winter jacket on top of his leather jacket. It a much too large, very fuzzy,  black thing that makes him look more like an oversized Muppet than a human being, but it also looks warm, and that’s all Mako really cares about at this point; he’s tired of having to bring Jamie back to life after every walk they take outside.

            Mako had originally planned to take Jamie to the supermarket again, but by the time they’re done in the Goodwill shop, Mako is so hungry that he doesn’t want to waste time shopping and then going home to cook, so instead he takes Jamie with him to lunch at a small pizzeria. Jamie looks discouraged for just a second before he spots the large sign that lists the many vegetarian options. Jamie gets a slice with artichoke, olives, and arugula, and Mako gets pepperoni, feta cheese, and spinach, his favorite. They sit by the window as they eat, the many bags sitting under their table. Mako looks out at the people passing them by, and something occurs to him; it’s Christmas soon. It’s not like him to forget Christmas (there’s a lot of money to be made at Christmas), but after everything that has happened with Jamie, Mako’s head hasn’t exactly been in the right place. He should really make sure that he updates his storage with things that people will want for Christmas—maybe get out to a couple of auctions to do some shopping, and he can do that better now with Jamie minding the shop. Oh yeah, that’s true, Jamie. What will he do with Jamie for Christmas? Mako usually spends Christmas with Ana and her daughter (they’re both Muslim, but they don’t celebrate it, but they have a nice dinner together). It’s highly unlikely that Jamie will have anywhere to spend Christmas Eve, and there’s no way Ana is going to let Mako attend Christmas dinner at her place without bringing Jamie, but Mako isn’t entirely sure he feels comfortable bringing Jamie to a dinner like that. However, it he feels even less comfortable at the idea of spending Christmas alone with Jamie.

            “Whatcha thinkin’ about, mate?” Jamie asks him, interrupting his thoughts. “Yer lookin’ all spaced out.”

            “Christmas,” Mako replies before he can stop himself. “I’m wondering what I should do for Christmas.”

            “Don’tcha spend it with yer family?”

            “I don’t have any family.”

            “Oh. Sorry.”

            Mako just shakes his head, and then has an idea. He has heard that one of the keys to a successful relationship, platonic or not, is honesty and communication, and while Mako isn’t usually a subscriber to hippie shit like that, he figures that he might as well give it a try.

            “What do you think?” he asks Jamie, watching as Jamie picks up on olive from his plate and pops into his mouth.

            “’Bout what?”

            “About Christmas. What would you like to do?”

            “Me? Oh, uh,” Jamie says, and he takes a moment to chew and swallow the olive before he answers. “I dunno. I haven’t celebrated Christmas in years.”

            “But what would you want to do?”

            “A good time with friends, I s’pose?” Jamie grins sheepishly. “Lotsa food and drink? Never really had that. Only spent Christmas with me mam, and that wasn’t exactly a bonny ol’ time.”

            “Why not?” Mako realizes, just as he asks this, that it’s a pretty personal question, and although Jamie has shared personal information with him before, it has never really gotten this deep. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Jamie beats him to the punch.

            “She wasn’t a nice lady,” Jamie replies with a shrug. “Got really bitter when me dad left, and she took it out on me. Threw me out when I was 15. Never really saw her again since then.”

            “Sorry.” Mako doesn’t really know what to say to this. He has never really known his own parents, so it’s not like he has much experience dealing with them. Jamie just huffs and grins at Mako.

            “S’fine,” he says. “Not worth cryin’ over. She did me a favor, really.”

            “Do you want to have Christmas dinner with me and Ana?” Mako blurts out, and the urge to clap his hands over his mouth is almost unbearable. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why is there no filter between his mouth and his brain when it comes to Jamie?

            “What? Ana who?”

            “The lady from the coffee shop,” Mako sighs. The damage has been done, and he can’t take it back now. “We usually have dinner together on Christmas Eve. Maybe—I don’t know—we could invite her and her daughter over for dinner, and you could make some of that vegetarian stuff. They’re Muslim, so they don’t eat pork. They’d probably like your food.”

            “Ya think so?”

            “I know so.”

            Jamie’s freckled cheeks turn a bit pink as he looks down at his paper plate, and when he looks back up at Mako, his face is softer than Mako has ever seen it before.

            “I’d like that,” he says, and Mako is gripped by the violent urge to reach out and ruffle Jamie’s ridiculous hair. He doesn’t, though. He just nods and gets up.

            “Come on. Let’s get back to the shop,” he grunts, grabbing the bags under the table. “I have work to do.”

            Jamie nods and gets up, hooking one bag over his half arm and hefting the other one over his shoulder. When they get back to the shop, Jamie disappears into his room—probably to unpack all the clothes—and Mako sits down in his small office to do some research. He looks through the catalogues of his usual auction houses, then calls a couple of his buyers, trying to piece together a good collection of smaller items that would go well for Christmas presents. The bigger items will be sold at auctions, but there will always be a wave of people coming into the shop to do some last minute Christmas shopping, so Mako wants to make sure that he has something they can afford. He tracks down a nice collection of Kähler vases, and although they’re a bit too modern for his usual selection, Mako tells his buyer to get them anyway. They’re always popular and shouldn’t be difficult to sell at all.

            Mako sighs and leans back in his chair, taking off his reading glasses (he really hates that he has to use those now) so he can pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s distracted and tense. Everything that has happened over the last couple of days has knocked him completely off balance and out of his normal routine, a routine he has been sticking to for almost two decades. It’s upsetting, and Mako can’t really focus on anything. Mako grunts and lets his hand fall from his face, letting it land in his lap. It lands on his thigh and brushes against his crotch. It feels nice, and Mako rubs his palm over it before he can think too much about it. Maybe this is what he needs to do to relax and re-orient himself? His body certainly seems to think so, because his cock is already swelling inside his pants.

            Mako scratches his cheek and glances at the door; he can’t leave the office now, because he might run into Jamie out in the shop, and he’s not really in the mood to be caught with a boner. If he stays where he is, though…

            Quietly, as if worried that Jamie is somehow listening to his thoughts, Mako gets out of his chair and edges over to the door to push it shut. He doesn’t close it all the way, because he wants to be able to hear if someone is coming, and he leaves a small creak open between the door and its frame. Then he gets back to his chair, leans back and closes his eyes. It has been a while since he has jerked off, and it has been even longer since he had sex. Those clubs are too noisy and too infuriating—maybe he should try that app? Grumblr? Something like that. Seems nice and easy. Dozens of willing, beautiful guys right at his fingertips? Sounds good.

            Mako tries to imagine what it would be like, setting up a meeting with some anonymous man. Maybe he’d set up the meeting at the shop—even easier! Would they even make it up the stairs to the bedroom? Maybe Mako would just suck his cock right there on the stairs? He could finger him, too. Get him nice and loose for when they would finally reach the bedroom.

            It only takes him a few seconds to get his cock out, and he lets his fingers glide over the inked skin. It has hurt like a bitch to get tattooed there, and even though Mako has a very complicated relationship with his tattoos, he has to admit that the ones covering his dick are still among his favorites. He likes how they turn dark when his cock is erect and the skin flushed, and how they turn even darker when the thick is lathered in lube or come. Mako has to press his lips together to stay quiet when he wraps his fingers around the fat shaft, squeezing it and rubbing a thumb over the head. It really has been too long, and Mako can feel the tenseness and stress seep out of his body as he settles into a steady rhythm. Flashes of the faceless man blink in and out of existence behind his closed eyelids, they’re on the stairs and Mako’s mouth is on his perfect cock, they’re in the living room, and Mako is eating his ass on the expensive couch, they’re in the bedroom, and Mako’s dick is buried deep in a pale, freckled ass. It clamps down around him, squeezing and milking him, and the way the tattooed rat on one of the ass cheeks is moving makes it all look hilarious and absurdly sexy. Wait a minute! Two things happen almost simultaneously: Mako’s eyes fly open, and a voice rings out, “I’ll be fuckin’ stuffed, that’s the handsomest donger I’ve ever laid eyes on!”

            Mako twists around in his chair to face none other than Jamie, standing there in the half-open door, staring right at his dick with his mouth hanging open. Their eyes meet, and Mako just have time to notice that Jamie’s tongue is pierced (twice!) before Jamie closes his mouth to offer Mako a bright, wide grin.

            “Good on ya, mate!” He gives Mako a fucking thumbs up!

            “What the hell?!” Mako bellows, making Jamie jump and giggle.

            “Sorry, mate! I wasn’t peepin'! Just wanted to ask—!”

            “What’s wrong with you? Get the fuck out!” Mako is already on his feet, charging at the door with his dick out.

            “Can do!” Jamie is gone is a flash, and Mako just slams the door shut so hard that one of the paintings on his wall falls down. This is going to be the death of him. This is how he dies. Mako’s heart is galloping in his chest, and his dick is so hard, it physically hurts him. Mako turns to lean against the door, sweat trickling down his face, and he jerks himself off so hard that it feels like he’s about to rip his cock off.

            “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” he breathes out when he comes a second later, and he’s far too ashamed to open his eyes and watch how the come spurts across the floor and then dribble down his trembling fingers. What a fucking nightmare.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you think I enjoy torturing Mako, you are... well, you're absolutely correct x) Nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing Mako suffering like this. There, I said it!
> 
> Anywayyyy, I hope y'all liked the chapter :) I struggled a lot with this chapter as you will know if you follow me on Twitter, but I think I got over the worst of my block. At least I have a clear idea of what's going to happen in chapter 7. 
> 
> And as always, remember to shoot me a comment with some feedback! I really appreciate it :)


	7. The Sawhorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mood is kind of tense in the little antique shop, but Mako's troubles have only just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hi! Welcome to yet another chapter of "Rabbit invents new ways of tormenting Mako"!
> 
> Enjoy!

*

 

They don’t talk about it, and Mako likes it that way. Jamie tries to talk about it exactly once, but whatever he was going to say about it fizzles out of him when Mako fixes him with a stare so furious, even Jamie’s freckles turn pale. He giggles nervously, they never speak another word about it after that, and Mako can go back to pretending it never happened. That’s good, because Mako really needs to focus on Christmas; he has gotten a last minute spot in a very prestigious auction that takes place at noon on the 24th of December, and Mako needs to select just the right pieces to enter before the deadline in two weeks. There are a lot of money to be made on an auction like that, which is mostly visited by filthy rich hipsters and widows in mink furs, but also a couple of famous artists and even a royal or two. Mako has shaken the hand of the prince consort once, and he has actually had a conversation or two with the crown prince. He doesn’t really care that much (Fareeha had been very excited, because the crown prince is apparently handsome? Not Mako’s type at all), but word gets around, and the royals have all days been great for business. If they only knew about his past—that can sometimes make Mako laugh when he’s feeling down; most of the seller/buyer scene in this city would piss themselves if they knew the full extent of his past. There are rumors, of course, and whether true or not, Mako doesn’t put them to bed. It’s good to be mysterious.

            Jamie is the opposite of mysterious. Most of the time, Mako knows exactly how Jamie is feeling and what he’s thinking about. The filter between Jamie’s brain and his mouth seems to be nonexistent, and Mako is half convinced that lying or withholding information are concepts that Jamie either doesn’t understand or hasn’t heard of. Jamie has been staying in the shop for two weeks now, and Mako is pretty sure he knows just about everything there is to know about Jamie, his past, his present, his dreams and ideas. Mako has to admit that he actually was a little surprised to learn that Jamie does indeed has dreams and aspirations beyond survival (today’s punks apparently don’t live by the “No Future” creed like they did in the 70s and 80s); they’re not big and illustrious, but that only makes them better in Mako’s opinion. Jamie is observing and poking around in Mako’s workshop while Mako is working on fixing the upholstery of a gorgeous Arne Jacobsen chair when Jamie suddenly says, “I like art.”

            Mako looks up and brushes a tuft of grey hair away from his forehead. “What?”

            “I like art,” Jamie repeats with a shrug as he turns to look at Mako. “I reckon I’d make a great artist.”

            “What kind of art would you make?” Mako asks him, finding it a little bit hard to picture Jamie spending hours on getting that little detail of a painting right. Maybe something more… explosive?

            “Dunno,” Jamie replies, leaning against the shelves with Mako’s tool. He pokes at an old welder. “Maybe sculptures? One of the books you put in my room was about that bloke Robert Jacobsen. I like his stuff.”

            Robert Jacobsen’s sculptures are raw and honest, and Mako can’t help but smile a bit; sounds like a perfect match for Jamie.

            “You should find your own expression,” Mako hums, adjusting his reading glasses a bit as he leans closer to the chair to get the stitch just right (no machine stitching here, thank you very much). “Copying someone else’s style won’t get you any buyers.”

            “Maybe I don’t care about buyers,” Jamie retorts, pushing away from the shelves to come up behind Mako to watch him. He doesn’t touch Mako, but Mako can feel his presence like buzzing electricity up against his back. “I just like weldin’ shit together.”

            “Speaking of welding shit together,” Mako says, and he straightens up and leans back a little. He expects Jamie to move like most people would, but Jamie doesn’t move; no, he just stays where he is and lets Mako lean up against his chest. Every single cell in Mako’s body seems to seize up and freeze in place. Mako is gripped by simultaneous urges to jerk an elbow backwards into Jamie’s stomach and run away, or possibly both. But he doesn’t do either. What he does is clearing his throat.

            “Uh, I want to teach you how to restore furniture so you can help me with this,” he says, voice sounding tight and slightly strained, and there isn’t a hair on his body that doesn’t bristle when Jamie hums and reaches out to rub his fingers over the seam Mako has been working on. Jamie’s chest rubs against Mako’s shoulder through their clothes (Mako’s multi-colored Henrik Vibskov shirt and Jamie’s black and white-striped sweatshirt), and Mako swears that he can feel the warmth from Jamie’s skin, but that’s of course impossible through the many layers of fabric. Jamie smells like Mako’s soap.

            “Reckon I could do that,” Jamie mumbles more to himself than to Mako. “Gotta earn my keep, don’t I?”

            “Yes,” Mako says a little too loudly. “If you pull up a chair, I’ll show you.”

            Mako breathes a sigh of relief when Jamie finally moves away, and he takes off his glasses to rub over his face. His heart is galloping, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s probably just leftover embarrassment from The Incident, and Mako’s shakes his head, trying to clear it, before putting his glasses back on. Jamie has pulled a chair up next to him, staring at him with big, excited eyes that shouldn’t make Mako’s insides twist the way they do.

            “Here,” Mako grunts and hands Jamie the needle and thread. “You know how to sew, right?”

            “How’d ya think the patches got onto me leather jacket, eh?” Jamie grins at him.

            “Right. Look at this stitch,” Mako says and hurries to jerk back a little when Jamie leans close to squint at the stitch in the fabric. “This is called a slip stitch. You use it when you don’t want the stitch to be too visible, and you never want that unless the stitch is part of the design.”

            Jamie hums and leans even closer, and Mako notices another damn rat tattoo peeking up from the neck of his sweatshirt. How many of those damn things does this kid have?

            “How d’ya do it?” Jamie asks, pulling back and looking honestly interested.

            “I’ll show you,” Mako grunts and picks up a leftover strip of fabric. He folds it, then hands it to Jamie before threading a new needle. “Like this."

            While Jamie still holds the fabric, Mako grabs his wrist to steady it as he leans in and makes the stitch. Jamie’s wrist is thin, and Mako is honestly a little worried that he might snap it by accident.

            “Do it again,” Jamie says once Mako is done, and Mako obliges. And he obliges again when Jamie repeats his request.

            “Got it?” Mako asks, and Jamie nods. “It might be a little tricky with only one hand, but you’ll manage, I think. Now you try.”

            Mako hands Jamie the needle and takes the fabric from him to hold it. Jamie stares down at the fabric with probably the most determined look Mako has ever seen on his face and uses his half-arm to hold Mako’s hands steady, bending his elbow stump in the empty sleeve around Mako’s wrist, before leaning close to make the stitch.

            “Bollocks,” Jamie grunts when his fingers slip and he drops the needle. “Hold still.”

            Mako just hums and nods, urging him to try again. Jamie huffs, frowning as he leans even closer and screwing his face up in concentration as he attempts to make the stitch again.

            “Bloody pissin’ shit wanker _fucktrumpet_!” Jamie barks out when he misses the mark again, and Mako tries to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from snorting out a laugh. He fails, though, and Jamie sends him a savage glare and snaps, “Shut it!”

            “Sorry,” Mako mutters and draws a deep breath, concentrating on keeping the laughter that’s bubbling in his chest at bay.

            “Again,” Jamie mutters, and he leans close yet again, absentmindedly tonguing the ring in the left side of his lip. His grip around Mako’s waist tightens a bit, and Mako forgets to be amused when he noticed that the tips of Jamie’s ears have gone pink.

            “ _Ow!_ ” Mako rips his hand away with a roar, the needle buried deep into his thumb. “What the fuck, Jamie?”

            “Shit, sorry!” Jamie half yelps, half laughs. “Sorry, mate! I didn’t mean to! Bleedin’ needle slipped!”

            Mako just glares at him and pulls the needle out of his thumb with a hiss. The hole is tiny, but it’s right in the pulp of his thumb, and it only takes a second before the first bead of dark red blood is trickling down his finger. Mako groans and sticks the thumb in his mouth to suck the blood off, snatching the wad of paper towels Jamie offers him with an apologetic grin.

            “Is it bad?” Jamie asks carefully, putting a hand on Mako’s shoulder as he leans close to inspect Mako’s thumb.

            “It’s fine,” Mako grunts even as the blood soaks through the paper he’s wrapped around the finger. “Just get me some bandages. They’re in the bathroom.”

            “Right’o, mate! I’m on it!” Jamie says and quickly leaves the room to sprint up the stairs to the apartment. Mako rolls his eyes and groans. His thumb is throbbing and still bleeding heavily, but Mako tries not to look at it. To say that he has a problem with blood would be a raging understatement; he is actually teetering on the edge of an outright phobia, which has been brought on by incidents in his past that he doesn’t want to think about, ever. He can feel the blood trickling down his finger again and down his inked wrist, but he can’t really bring himself to look at it. Anxiety is buzzing right under his skin, and his heart rate is running wild. Just breathe, old man. Just breathe. In. And out. In. And out.

            Mako literally jumps in his chair when Jamie suddenly calls down the stairs, “Oi, Mako? Can’t find the bandages, mate. Anywhere else they could be at?”

            Mako rakes his brain; he always keeps the bandages in the bathroom, so if they’re not there, then where could they be? Why would he have moved them? It actually helps a little with his anxiety to try and solve this, and it suddenly occurs to him…

            “They’re in the bedroom,” he calls back to Jamie. “On or in the nightstand.”

            “Okie dokie!”

            Mako had scratched himself to blood last summer when he had been stupid enough to sleep with the window open on a particularly hot and humid night, and he had woken up half-eaten alive by mosquitos. He had to put bandages on every bite to keep himself from scratching. It’s not until Jamie calls out, “Found ‘em!” that Mako realizes what a horrible, terrible mistake he has made. If Jamie has opened the drawer in Mako’s nightstand, which he probably has in his search for the bandages, there is no way he could have missed the filthy magazine aptly named “TW!NK” and the large bottle of lube. Mako smacks his healthy hand into his face and wonders what ungodly evil deity has it in for him, because surely someone is trying to make him die of shame. Jamie is going to know that he’s gay, which really isn’t that bad, but Jamie is also going to think he’s some dirty, old pig, and maybe he’s going to think that Mako has ulterior motives for letting him live here. Jamie is probably going to be disgusted by him and leave as soon as he can, and for some reason, Mako actually cares about this.

            “Holy fuck, why ain’t ya puttin’ pressure on the wound, ya dipstick?” Jamie blurts out as he comes into the workshop. Mako doesn’t have to look at his thumb to know that it probably looks murderous by now with blood still flowing down his hand and wrist. Jamie comes up to him and removes the soaked paper towel from the hurt thumb before grabbing a fresh sheet to press against the small puncture wound. If he has found the magazine and disliked it, he certainly isn’t showing it, because Jamie just sighs and tuts at him.

            “Yer kinda helpless, ain’t ya?” he mumbles, pressing the paper hard against the pulp of Mako’s thumb, and Mako finally turns his head to glance up at Jamie before looking at his now decidedly less bloody thumb (the blood on his hand and wrist is already beginning to dry).

            “I don’t like blood,” Mako mutters quietly. The anxiety is still festering just outside his line of sight, but telling Jamie this little tidbit of personal information somehow makes it seem more distant.

            “Huh.”

            Mako expects Jamie to ask why, but he doesn’t. He just keeps pressure on Mako’s thumb for another couple of seconds before removing the paper and replacing it with a bandage.

            “There!” he says and beams proudly at his handiwork. “Good as new!” To Mako’s soul shuddering horror, Jamie leans down and places a smack of a kiss onto his bandaged thumb.

            “Uh,” is all Mako has to offer until he swallows and adds, “thanks.”

            “No worries, mate,” Jamie says and actually has the nerve to pat Mako on the head. “Mam’s a bitch, but she’s also a nurse, so at least I know how to patch someone up.”

            “Hrm,” Mako grunts in reply, and to his own surprise, he smiles a bit as he studies his bandaged thumb. When he looks up at Jamie, Jamie’s cheeks have gone a bit pink, and he’s playing with his lip piercings.

            “Didn’t that hurt?” Mako asks him, nodding at the piercings.

            “Dunno,” Jamie replies with a grin as he scratches the back of his neck. “Don’t really remember getting’ ‘em.”

            “No?”

            “Nah, I was pretty fucked up back then.” Jamie snickers and looks down at his shoes. He seems embarrassed about it.

            “Like how?” Mako prods, hoping to steer Jamie’s mind as far away from what he probably found in the bedroom as possible.

            “Oh, y’know,” Jamie sighs and shrugs. “Uppers, downers, laughers, screamers.”

            “You’re quoting _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_ ,” Mako huffs with a crooked smile.

            “Right, but it’s still true,” Jamie says and lets out a soft laugh. It’s a laugh that sounds a lot different from his usual snickering and giggling. It’s warm and calm, not fidgety or nervous.

            “Do you have any other piercings?” Mako asks, and he belatedly realizes that the question might be a bit inappropriate.

            “Well, me tongue,” Jamie says and sticks out his tongue at Mako. Last time Mako saw those two barbells he saw sitting in his office with his dick in his hand, and the unwelcome memories force their way into Mako’s head.

            “Got another one, but ya can’t see it when I’m wearing clothes,” Jamie goes on, and god damn it, he actually dares to look down with a fresh blush on his cheeks. Even if it’s just a belly button ring or something ridiculous like that, Mako is not having it anymore (he conveniently ignores the fact that he was the one who started this conversation).

            “Right, well, I gotta finish this,” Mako grunts, turning in his chair to face the chair. “There’s—” Mako pauses, because he spots a spot of blood on the new upholstery he has spent hours fitting and stitching. The spot is dry and impossible to remove, so the only solution is to start over. Mako groans and slams his head down into the seat cushion; this day can go all the way to Hell and stay there. Mako can sense Jamie’s gaze on him, but he just doesn’t have the energy to explain. He’s hoping that maybe Jamie will just leave him alone to grieve in private, but a moment later he feels Jamie’s warm hand on his shoulder.

            “Mate, maybe it’s time for a break, yeah?” Jamie suggests, patting Mako’s shoulder. “If yer hungry, I know a good place for dinner.”

            “You know a place?” Mako asks into the cushion. “What kind of place?”

            “It’s a surprise!” Jamie replies and squeezes Mako’s shoulder. “C’mon, old man. It’s like an adventure.”

            “Who’re you calling ‘old man’?” Mako grunts and finally straightens up to look at Jamie. Jamie just grins and winks at him before skipping out of the room to go get his coat. Mako sighs and pushes to his feet to do the same. He has no idea where Jamie is going to take him, but it’s probably some vegetarian place that only serves lentils and tofu. When he asks Jamie about it as they leave the shop a few minutes later, Jamie just shakes his head and smiles mysteriously, claiming that Mako is going to love it. Mako has his doubts.

            “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going?” Mako asks as they walk down the street. “Which part of town?”

            “Not too far away,” Jamie explains and pushing Mako’s woolen hat (it’s apparently Jamie’s hat now) up a bit so he can see where he’s going. The too large hat paired with the huge, fluffy coat and bright red, stickered rubber boots make Jamie look more or less ridiculous, but Mako stopped caring about that a long time ago. In fact, he thinks Jamie looks kind of adorable in the oversized clothes, but he has told himself that that is not an okay thought.

            “Gotta go a coupla stops with the train,” Jamie tells him, and he leads the way away from the small streets and alleys in Mako’s neighborhood and onto the main shopping street. There’s only two weeks until Christmas, and the streets are alive with a myriad of people trying to get their Christmas shopping done after work, and Jamie has to grab a hold on the sleeve of Mako’s coat not to be carried away by the constantly billowing stream of people. Jamie might be tall, but he still doesn’t weigh much and is easy to knock off his feet, so Mako does his best to part the sea of people in front of them as they head down the street towards the station. The station is just as busy, if not busier, than the shopping street, and this time, Mako has to actually reach around Jamie to grab his shoulder so they won’t be separated. It’s not until they’re squished up against each other on the train, and Jamie is basically plastered up against Mako’s belly, that Mako realizes that, well, there’s a lot of touching going on here. There’s not really anything he can do about it right now, being stuffed into the train cart like fish in a barrel, and there’s a tiny, miniscule part of him that isn’t displeased at this at all, especially not when Jamie mutters a very colorful profanity when his hat yet again falls over his eyes.

            They get off the train a couple of stops later, and Mako once again has to grab a hold of Jamie’s shoulder to keep him from floating away in the human sea. There’s a large shopping mall right next to the station (a mall a lot less prestigious than the one Mako sometimes go to), and the frenzied and exhausted Christmas shoppers flow in flittering torrents to and from the entrance. Mako worries for a moment as they’re climbing the stairs up from the station that they’re going into the mall, but when they reach the footbridge that lead over the tracks to the mall, Jamie steers them in the opposite direction.

            They’re in a completely different part of town now, an old industrial neighborhood, but the companies and businesses have long since vacated the buildings that until recently have just been sitting there, dormant and graffitied. Now they’ve been turned into trendy restaurants and nightclubs that serve organic cocktails, vegan pizza, and wheat grass smoothies. Once again, Mako is worried, but once again, Jamie doesn’t go where Mako thinks he’s going. At the intersection where one street leads down to the cluster of Hipster Hell on Earth, Jamie turns sharp left and heads in the opposite direction. The street they walking down now runs parallel to the train tracks, and there is nothing there but the tracks on one side and 120 years old apartment buildings on the other side. Mako is about to ask where they’re going when Jamie finally stops and turns to look at him.

            “Here we are!” Jamie says and beams at Mako.

            They’re standing next to what is hardly even bigger than a shed and more or less looks like one, too. The exterior is painted in white and blue stripes, and it looks like a relic from the early 80s where American junk food had just entered the country and was the latest trend. Even the pictures of burgers and hotdogs on the signs outside the shed look like they’re from the 80s. It’s not like Mako is a food snob (okay, maybe a little bit), but this was probably the last place Mako expected Jamie to take him. Not because of the food quality, but because this is probably the last place you would find a good, vegetarian meal. Everything, including the pickles, comes from giant jugs and buckets, and the most homemade about the food here, will be that they heated the meat themselves.

            “Seriously?” Mako asks, eyeing the shed restaurant before turning back to Jamie. “Here?”

            “You betcha!” Jamie says happily and leads the way up to the large plastic slide door. It’s warm and humid inside, and the fumes and steam from the grill behind the counter threaten to set Mako into a coughing fit.

            “Oi, Bob!” Jamie calls as he slides the door shut behind them and turns to the man behind the counter. The man looks up and offers him a wide, semi-toothless smile.

            “Jamie! Long time no see, my boy! How’ve you been?”

            While Jamie tells this man, Bob, about his current situation, Mako spends most of his energy on trying to quell the surprisingly violent and frankly unwelcomed rush of jealousy that is welling up in him. Who is this guy, and how does he even know Jamie? They seem to be very friendly and familiar, and it feels like Bob and Jamie go some time back.

            “So, who’s your quiet and large friend?”

            Mako is forced away from his musings when the conversation turns his direction. He opens his mouth to reply, but Jamie cuts across him.

            “This is Mako! He’s the bloke who let me stay even though I tried to nick his stuff.”

            Most people would probably ask for more details or even be horrified at this weird arrangement, but Bob just laughs and shakes his head.

            “Better watch your things, Mako!” he says, adjusting his greasy apron. “Even though our Jamie here only has five fingers, he knows how to use them.”

            Jamie and Bob snort and laugh, and Mako just offers him a tight, slightly uncomfortable smile. He eyes Jamie as he catches up with Bob, then tentatively pulls up a stool to sit down. He has always hated barstools, because it feels like he’s sitting on a match stick, but the stool holds up under his weight.

            “Alright, enough chitchat,” Bob says and pushes away from the counter. “You’ll have the usual, yeah?”

            “Right,” Jamie says with a nod and climbs onto the stool next to Mako’s. “Mako will have the same, served the regular way.”

            “The what?” Mako leans in to ask Jamie, but Jamie just grins and shakes his head.

            “Just wait,” Jamie teases Mako, and he puts his elbows on the counter to prop his chin up, breathing in a deep, happy sigh. “You’ll like this one.”

            Mako is watching Jamie, and he’s pretty sure that he has never seen Jamie this relaxed. His nervous twitching seems to have stopped for now, and he just smiles and stares at nothing in particular. Jamie has never looked like that around Mako before, and something ugly squirms deep in Mako’s gut. But jealousy is the sign of the weak, and Mako is definitely not weak, so he just huffs and checks his email on his phone. A few minutes later, Bob places two plastic plates on the counter, one front from of each of them.

            “Food’s up, friends!”

            Jamie instantly straightens up on the stool with a wide, excited grin. Mako eyes the colorful food on his plate; it looks a bit like a burger with a white bun with sesame seeds on top, but that’s about the only resemblance there is. The bun is stuff full of bright purple pickled red cabbage, green pickled cucumber slices, and two fat slices of roast pork with the rind still attached. The juice from the cabbage is already soaking through the bottom bun, coloring it purple, and the whole thing honestly looks kind of disgusting. Jamie just grins at him and picks up his pork burger (sans pork) and takes a big bite.

            “Honest, mate,” he says through a mouthful of purple, “s’good! Try it.”

            Mako sighs and picks up the weird sandwich, dripping with cabbage juice. It smells okay, but really? Mako prepares himself for gagging as he lifts the mess to his mouth and takes a bite. The first thing he tastes is the cabbage, which is strangely vinegary and sweet. The roasted pork rind crunches between his teeth, warm and savory, and then the pickles kick in, sour and crispy, and holy shit, this is amazing! Mako stares at the ugly violet mess before him, then at Jamie. Jamie just grins and winks at him.

            “Told ya!”

            “You did tell me.” Mako can’t help but smile, and Jamie’s face seems to go the same color as the cabbage. But Mako might just be imagining it.

            An hour and four sandwiches later (two with and two without meat), Jamie and Mako are heading home. The rush of people has stilled, and Mako and Jamie are almost alone at the station as they wait for the train. Jamie’s cheeks and nose are pink from the cold, and his eyelids look heavy as he slumps back on the bench they’re sitting on, his hand resting on his full belly.

            “So how do you know that guy?” Mako asks, feeling pretty full and drowsy himself.

            “Bob? Oh, he sorta took me in back when I first got here,” Jamie explains around a yawn. “He’d feed me every once in a while when I was bein’ too pathetic.”

            “How did you meet him?”

            “Tried to nick a soda from him.”

            “Do you meet all your friends via theft?”

            Jamie snorts and yawns again, his eyes half-closed. “Mm’yeah,” he mumbles, tucking his hand into his armpit to keep it warm before leaning slightly sideways. Jamie’s cheek touches against Mako’s shoulder, and Mako is one second away from jumping to his feet and shoving Jamie away. But that would be very rude, especially since Jamie seems to have fallen asleep. His pale reddish lashes are fluttering slightly over his freckled cheeks, and Mako isn’t at all comfortable like this, so he breathes a relieved sigh when the train finally rolls into the station.

            “Hey,” he grunts and pokes Jamie’s shoulder. “Train.”

            “Mmh? Right,” Jamie hums, straightening up and rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t really look awake at all, so Mako rolls his eyes and grabs Jamie around the waist to heft him to his feet and walk him into the train cart. Jamie resumes his sleeping up against Mako on the train. It’s impossible to wake him up (maybe a food coma really is a thing?), and Mako has to half-carry him back to the shop.

            “How’s your thumb?” Jamie suddenly hums once they’re inside the warmth of the shop and Mako is tugging the coat off Jamie.

            “It’s fine,” Mako grunts. He had honestly forgotten about the thumb, and he takes a look at it. The bandages are still neatly in place.

            “M’goin’ to bed,” Jamie mumbles as he kicks off his rubber boots before stretching his arms over his head with a long groan. His shirt rides up a bit, and Mako gets a full view of Jamie’s belly and the small trail of blond hairs that run from his bellybutton and down to… Mako jerks his head away with a huff.

            “G’night, mate,” Jamie says, and before Mako can mutter a goodnight in return, Jamie has walked up and given him a brief hug. “Thanks for an ace day.”

            Mako is so befuddled by this that he forgets to take off his coat and boots. He climbs the stairs to the apartment and throws himself on his bed with a huff. What happened to his nice and simple life?

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaa! This is it for now, and I hope you liked it. 
> 
> And just for reference; if you're interested in the amazing and brilliant works of Robert Jacobsen, you can find examples of it [here](https://www.google.com/search?q=robert+jacobsen+sculpture&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiptIvqjtLTAhXpi1QKHUO6A6UQ_AUICigB&biw=1920&bih=950). AND! The sandwich Jamie and Mako eat is a traditional Danish thing called a flæskestegssandwich, and yes, it's [fucking amazing!](https://www.google.com/search?q=fl%C3%A6skestegssandwich+recipe&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjjlovLhNPTAhVhx1QKHcl2C5kQ_AUIBygC&biw=1920&bih=950#tbm=isch&q=fl%C3%A6skestegssandwich&imgrc=_)
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter :)  
> If you like to follow me on other platforms, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit) or [Tumblr](https://rabbitvswonderland.tumblr.com/)!


	8. The Swan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Mako wants for Christmas is a nice and simple life. Guess what he's not getting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 8 of Superannuated! I'd like to start off by saying that I made a poll about how this chapter should end, so don't blame me for this! I had nothing to do with this, okay??
> 
> Also, please check out this amazing piece of art [Fin has drawn for me](http://fingurken.tumblr.com/post/160427560889)!
> 
> Enjoy!

*

 

            “And you’re sure you don’t need any help?”

            “She’ll be right, mate, just keep me company.”

            Mako grunts and sits back down on his chair. He is watching Jamie at the kitchen counter, and he feels kind of like a dick for just sitting here, sipping a beer, while Jamie is trying to cook Christmas dinner for five people (Ana asked if it would be alright if Reinhardt joined them, but when Mako quirked his eyebrow at her, she just huffed and told him to mind his own business), but Jamie keeps saying that he doesn’t need any help. And honestly, it doesn’t really look like he does; despite only being equipped with one hand, Jamie doesn’t look to be having any trouble at all. Mako has witnessed Jamie cooking quite a few times now, and he is surprised at Jamie’s skill every time. He has even gone so far as to suggest that Jamie should seek employment as a chef, but Jamie just snorts and shakes his head; he only enjoys cooking if he’s cooking for people he cares about, he says. Mako isn’t really sure he’s all that comfortable with that thought.

            “Tell me again what you’re making,” Mako says after taking a swallow of beer.

            “Right, I’m makin' a meatless meatloaf with lentils and cashews, hotpockets with spiced lentils, sweet potatoes and kale, caramelized potatoes and then rice puddin' with cherry sauce for dessert.”

            Had this been a month ago, Mako would have scoffed at the thought of a meatless Christmas dinner, but through Jamie’s cooking, Mako has learned that vegetarian doesn’t equal boring. In fact, Jamie’s food tastes better than most of the food Mako normally eats, and Jamie’s one weekly food day has been bumped up to as many as he wants, because it’s better and cheaper than eating out. Besides, Jamie seems to enjoy cooking, and Mako makes sure to praise him every time.

            “D’ya think the others will like it?” Jamie turns to look at Mako, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He looks kind of adorable wearing Mako’s brown apron. It’s so big for him that he’s had to wrap it several times around himself, and it makes him look like a human cigar.

            “They better,” Mako grunts, and he doesn’t really notice it when Jamie grabs his beer and takes a swig from it. “It’s all they’re getting.”

            Jamie grins, flashing his golden tooth at Mako, and Mako hurries to show a lot of interest in the label on his beer bottle. He doesn’t want to admit this at all, but he’s actually a little nervous about tonight; Ana and the others haven’t really seen Jamie since that ill-fated day in the kitchen. Mako has been too busy with the Christmas sales to do anything about it, and Ana has apparently decided to back off and give him some space, because she hasn’t pushed the matter, although she has expressed some dissatisfaction that Mako hasn’t kept up their semi-daily lunch date lately. It’s only half on purpose that Mako hasn’t kept that up; he really has been very busy buying and selling stuff for Christmas, and he has had to prepare a full catalogue for the Christmas auction (an auction that went above and beyond expectation, by the way!), so his time and energy to do things outside of working have been very limited. And then, of course, he has been weary of letting Ana into the shop/apartment when Jamie is around. It’s not like he has anything to hide—right?—but well, maybe he just wanted to keep Jamie for himself for a while? If Mako is completely honest with himself, he does think it’s kind of nice to have a friend all to himself. Wait, is Jamie his friend? It seems stupid and silly to call Jamie a friend when there’s such a big age difference between them, but—well, they do spend a lot of time together even if they don’t actually have to, and he knows just about everything there is to know about Jamie at this point. Jamie doesn’t know much about Mako—actually, that’s a lie; Jamie probably knows everything about Mako’s current life, but he doesn’t know much about Mako’s past. And yet, he knows more than Mako has ever told anyone else. Jamie knows which town Mako grew up in back in New Zealand, and he knows when Mako came here. That’s already more than Ana knows. Mako isn’t really sure why he has told Jamie these things, but it has just been hard not to. Jamie never pesters him for information like other people have in the past. He seems perfectly willing to accept that Mako doesn’t like to talk about it, so he doesn’t ask. What little information Jamie knows about Mako’s past is information that Mako has volunteered on his own.

            “Here, taste this,” Jamie says, cutting into Mako’s thoughts as he comes close with a spoon. It’s the cherry sauce, and Jamie blows on it to cool it a bit before holding the spoon out to Mako. Mako leans closer and closes his lips around the spoon. For some reason their eyes lock right as he does this, and Jamie holds his gaze as Mako sucks the sauce off the spoon and leans back again, swallowing and forcing himself to ignore the pickling under his skin.

            “Tart.”

            “What?” Jamie blinks, and his cheeks turn the same color as the cherries he has been pitting most of the day (his fingertips are still purple).

            “It’s tart,” Mako hums, licking his lips. “I like it.”

            “Oh, right!” Jamie laughs and turns back to the counter. “That’s good. It’s s’posed to be tart.”

            “Mh,” Mako grunts in reply, gaze gliding down Jamie’s back. The shirt he’s wearing is slightly too short, and Mako can see about an inch and a half of Jamie’s bare skin. It’s pale like the rest of him, and there are no tattoos on it for once. There are freckles, though, and Mako absentmindedly counts them. 31 on that small stretch of skin. They’re light brown, and Mako can’t help but wonder if they get darker in the summer or if they stay the same color all year round. Before he can stop himself, Mako reaches out and strokes his finger over the bared stripe of skin. Jamie lets out half-yelp, half-giggle and spins around.

            “You, uh, there was a fly,” Mako lies and quickly pulling his hand away. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

            “Didn’t bloody startle me,” Jamie huffs with a crooked smile, and he has the nerve to lick his pierced lips before turning back to the food. Mako doesn’t know what to do with himself after that, so he just stays right where he is even though his beer is running low and he could really use another one right about now. It’s like the energy (Mako doesn’t even believe in that New Age bullshit) is changing between them, and he doesn’t know why or how to deal with it. Jamie has always been pretty physical, but it’s like it’s gotten worse of the last few days, and Mako is strangely okay with it, which is honestly a surprise, because he’s usually not physical. Not even the twinks he brings home every now and then get more than a fuck and a couple of slaps on the ass; Mako doesn’t do cuddling or kissing. He pokes a bit at his now empty beer bottle, and he pushes to his feet to finally go get another one. He brushes against Jamie as he passes him on the his way to the fridge, and Jamie stops chopping whatever it is he’s chopping for a second.

            “Get me one, too, will ya?” he asks without looking up from what he’s doing.

            Mako grunts in reply and gets a second beer out for Jamie.

            “Here, let me open it for you,” he says, but Jamie snatches the bottle with a grin.

            “No need, mate,” he says and one second later, he has popped the cap off with his gold tooth. Mako is so surprised and impressed that he can’t hold back a laugh. Jamie looks very pleased with himself, and he takes a large swig from the bottle that leaves his cheeks slightly pink. Mako wants to bite them.

            “So, uh,” Mako says to try and redirect his focus away from Jamie’s cheeks, “what’re you making for dinner again?”

            “Seriously? Just told ya, mate,” Jamie grins, and Mako hates the way his cheeks go warm when he grunts and remembers that yes, Jamie did just tell him.

            “Anyway, it’s pretty much done,” Jamie tells him, wiping his hand in a dish towel. “Just gotta heat it up and arrange it when people get here.”

            “So what now?” Mako asks him, swallowing the rest of his beer. He feels warm and light-headed, and his tongue feels a lot looser than he’s comfortable with.

            “Now,” Jamie says, drawing the last vowel like he’s trying to figure out what to say next, “I reckon I take a shower and make meself look pretty for the guests?”

            “No need,” Mako says in spite of himself, and Jamie’s cheeks turn a shade of dark of pink. He laughs as if Mako only meant it as a joke, which he really didn’t, and just shakes his head as he leaves the kitchen, still giggling to himself. Mako shifts a bit in his seat once he’s alone; this is taking a route he doesn’t want it to. He doesn’t want to be flirting with Jamie, he doesn’t want things to be this easy and comfortable between them; hell, he doesn’t even know if Jamie is gay, and even if he actually is gay, Mako might not even be interesting to him. He did offer to suck Mako off the second time they met, but Jamie has been inches away from death, and people will say and do the craziest things when they’re that far gone. He was probably just desperate. It’s not like Jamie has repeated the offer since or even shown any interest in Mako in that way (well, except for that one time where he said Mako had a nice ass). A kid like Jamie, who’s pretty good-looking in his own way (especially now that a proper diet has put a little more meat on his bones), wouldn’t be interested in an old fart like Mako—okay, that’s bullshit, because the twinks Mako drags home when he on a rare occasion he decides to visit a gay bar are all around Jamie’s age (some of them even a little younger). There are plenty of young men, who are interested in an old pig like Mako, but Jamie isn’t one of them (if he really _is_ gay), Mako tells himself as he pushes to his feet and leaves the warm, nice-smelling kitchen.

            Something hot coils in Mako’s gut when he passes the bathroom and he hears the splash of the shower; Jamie is naked right behind that door, and although Mako has seen almost all of Jamie after that drunken night, the thought of seeing him all naked, and wet, and lathered in soap, does things to Mako’s body that he’s not exactly proud of. It’s creepy, too, imagining things like that about his tenant, or whatever Jamie is, so he hurries past the bathroom and into his bedroom. He took a shower earlier, so the only thing he needs to do is get into his nice clothes before the guests arrive. He has even laid it out on the bed, too, so there’s no excuse for not getting ready. But Mako feels lazy today, and he’s honestly not really in the mood for guests. He can’t really cancel Christmas, though, and Jamie has spent all day in the kitchen, too. It would be pretty shitty to let all his work go to waste just because Mako is feeling odd today. He sighs and throws himself onto the bed (he’s careful not to land on the clothes), burying his face in his pillow. What is he even being such a bitch about? He doesn’t have to do anything but eat good food and hang out with people that he already knows he likes. It’s really minimum effort on his part, and still, what Mako is most in the mood for right now is hiding out in his bed, preferably buried under every blanket he owns. Maybe with Jamie there, too… fresh out of the shower, all damp and soft and smelling like soap.

            Mako grunts and actually tugs his own hair hard to force the inappropriate images out of his head. He pushes off to bed to walk over and close the bedroom door (he has learned his lesson) before getting out of his clothes. His wipes his face with a wet wipe as if that might erase the nasty ideas in his head, then shakes his hair out to brush through it and redo his ponytail. Then he puts on his nice clothes; a light blue dress shirt from Armoire d’Homme, a pair of black slacks, and a pair of dark suede loafers. If anyone had told his young self how he would dress 20 years down the road, he would probably have laughed and/or punched them in their face. Mako sometimes misses the black denim and leather of his youth, but dressing nicely is a must in this business. Plus, Mako likes to show off his success in clothes instead of big, ugly cars or penthouses. He stares at himself in the mirror, not entirely dissatisfied with the view, and rolls his sleeves up to show off his tattooed arms. Jamie hasn’t asked about his tattoos since that night they got drunk on white wine, and part of Mako wishes that he would. In fact, Mako has been feeling an urge to share more about his past with Jamie, but since he’s been so tight-lipped about it up until now, it would seem weird to suddenly start blabbering about it. Mako off-handedly wonders how someone like Ana manages to walk that line between making her customers feel close to her and yet maintaining a professional distance. She’s decidedly less socially awkward than Mako is. Maybe it’s just something normal people can do? People who haven’t had a fucked up childhood and still suffer from nightmares about it every now and then? People who don’t spiral into panic attacks when their routine is broken? Mako rubs over his face and glares at himself in the mirror. It’s really ironic that a guy his size, who looks so intimidating, is so fragile on the inside. He’s always been like that, and sometimes he can still hear his big brother’s voice telling him to man the fuck up. Ugh.

            This is definitely not what Mako needs to be thinking about tonight, and he looks away from his reflection, deciding that he’s not going to think about Taika anymore tonight. He picks up his phone from the dresser and replies with an “okay” to Ana’s text that they might be a bit late (Fareeha can’t find her phone), then leaves the bedroom, heading for the kitchen. The noise of the water has stopped in the bathroom, so Jamie must be drying off, but Mako tries not to think about that either. The wine he has bought for the night needs to breathe for about half an hour before it’s served, so Mako opens one bottle and pours it into the decanter. It already smells delicious, and Mako can’t help but pour himself a small glass to taste it.  

            “Mmmh,” Mako hums and closes his eyes for a moment to really taste the wine. He doesn’t really know anything about wine, but he really likes this one.

            “How’s the wine, mate?” Jamie’s voice rings out behind him.

            “Good,” Mako replies, licking his lips.

            “Well, don’t be stingy, give us a taste!”

            Mako turns around and almost drops the glass when he sees Jamie standing there. He’s naked—well, he has a towel wrapped around his ludicrously narrow hips, but that’s it. His hair is damp and messy like he has only just briefly dried it with a towel. His skin is still flushed from the warm water, and there are still droplets trickling down his chest and belly. Mako’s body instantly feels very warm, and his skin starts to tingle. He shoves the glass into Jamie’s hand without another word, unable to keep himself from gawking at Jamie like a complete idiot. Jamie doesn’t seem to notice, though, because he just takes the glass and downs the rest of the wine in it.

            “Mmh! What a corker!” Jamie says once he has swallowed. “Brilliant choice, mate!” Jamie opens his mouth to say something else, but then something that has never happened before happens right in front of Mako’s eyes; Jamie falls quiet. It’s not that Jamie hasn’t been silent before. No, he can actually be very silent when he’s concentrating hard on something, like for example when he’s practicing a new stitch or measuring fabric or leather for new upholstery. But Mako has never before seen him fall silent in the middle of saying something. It throws Mako off so much that it takes a moment for him to realize that Jamie’s gaze is actually directed at something, something that isn’t Mako’s face or his chest, and Mako follows it, looking down at himself, expecting to see a big wine stain on his crisp, new shirt. What he finds there, however, is much, much worse. His shirt is unstained, but there’s a big bulge in the front of his slacks, and Jamie is staring right at it.

            “Shit,” Mako breathes. The stupid beer and wine must have conspired to numb him a bit or something, because he didn’t feel getting hard at all or else he would probably have fled. But he can’t flee now. Jamie is standing in the door, blocking his only escape route, and Make is pretty sure that touching Jamie right now would be a very bad idea.

            “Is—is that because of me?” Jamie asks slowly, finally directing his gaze away from Mako’s boner to Mako’s face instead, and for the first time since they’ve known each other, Mako can’t read the expression on Jamie’s face. It’s surprised, sure, but whether that’s good or bad? Mako has no idea. He also has no idea what to say. He could lie, of course, but he hates lying, and the truth is pretty obvious, too, since this only happened after Jamie stepped half-naked into the kitchen.

            “Yes,” Mako finally confesses, and he looks away in shame to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. This is really, really bad. “Listen, don’t hate me, okay?” He sighs again and looks back at Jamie. “I promise I’m not some creep—!”

            Mako doesn’t get to say anymore, because the rest of his words get muffled against Jamie’s pierced lips. Mako doesn’t do kisses, but no one has told Jamie that, because Jamie has lurched himself at Mako and curled his spindly arm and a half around Mako’s thick neck as he crushes his mouth against Mako’s. Mako is too shocked to actually do anything for a few seconds. Jamie’s lips are moving against his and his pierced tongue is trying to tease Mako’s mouth open. There’s a split-second where  Mako almost shoves Jamie off him, but then he feels Jamie’s erection rubbing up against his belly, and there is no force (nature or manmade) on the planet that can stop him from grabbing Jamie’s ass with his big hands and return the kiss with a deep, rumbling groan.

            Jamie seems to melt up against him, and he fingers twist into Mako’s hair, messing it up, as he slides his tongue into Mako’s mouth. Mako feels the two knobs of the barbells in Jamie’s tongue, and he instantly tries to imagine what they would feel like rubbing against the underside of his cock. That thought sends a powerful shudder through him, and he lets out a low growl as he lifts Jamie up and walks him up against the nearest wall. Jamie moans—fuck, he sounds really fucking sexy when he moans—and squirms up against Mako’s front. It’s probably the hottest thing anyone has ever done in the history of the world, and Mako is just about to slide one finger between Jamie’s buttocks when the bell over the door down in the shop dings.

            “Hello, we’re here!”

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember! I had nothing to do with this ending! The people wanted this! Blame them, not me!
> 
> Also, if you are intrigued by Jamie's cooking, you can find the recipes here.
> 
>  
> 
> [Meatless meatloaf](http://www.onegreenplanet.org/vegan-recipe/lentil-cashew-loaf/)  
> [Hotpockets](http://www.thekitchn.com/recipe-spiced-lentil-sweet-potato-and-kale-whole-wheat-pockets-181100)  
> [Caramelized potatoes](http://honestcooking.com/danish-browned-potatoes-recipe/)  
> [Rice pudding](http://nordicfoodliving.com/risalamande-danish-rice-dessert/) (the pudding is best if you add some lemon zest to it!)


	9. The Egg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you get interrupted doing something important, try and try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hi, and Happy Chapter 9, everyone!
> 
> I'm not gonna say much more than this, because I know we've all been waiting impatiently for this chapter (I know, I have!), so here it is!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> PS. "pīni" means "bean" in Maori :)

*

 

Mako’s heart is still pounding when Ana, Reinhardt, and Fareeha enter the kitchen. Ana has put her silver hair up in a nice braided bun on top of her head, Reinhardt has actually combed his beard, and Fareeha has grown at least five inches since Mako last saw her. He only has time to look up from the cherry sauce he’s pretending to be stirring when Fareeha runs up to him and gives him a tight hug and a smack of a kiss on the cheek. Mako has known her pretty much her entire life, and she used to come over to his shop after school to watch him work and complain about homework and her mother. Despite Mako and Ana being good friends, Fareeha knew her secrets were safe with Mako. And they were, even though it was sometimes difficult to keep his mouth shut with Ana. Especially the day a 13 year old Fareeha had come crying to him and in a whisper confessed that she had a crush on a girl named Angela from school.

            Yeah, Mako and Fareeha have always been close, and even now, when Mako is pretty out of it, one hug from Fareeha easily brings him back down to earth again. He smiles a bit and pets her back.

            “Hey,” he says, and he can’t help but smile even wider when she beams up at him. She’s almost 20 at this point, but she’ll always be his girl, the daughter he will never have, even if he’ll never admit that out loud to anyone.

            “How’re you doing, pīni?” Mako asks her, pulling away and ruffling her thick, black hair. She huffs and tried to straighten it.

            “Seriously, Mako, I’m a grown woman. You can’t call me that anymore,” Fareeha tells him as she dips a fingertip into the cherry sauce to taste it. Mako slaps it away, and she laughs and withdraws her hand before he can hit it.

            “I’ll call you whatever I damn well please,” Mako grunts and winks at her.

            Fareeha just rolls her eyes at him, then looks around the kitchen.

            “Where’s your boyfriend?”

            “My—my _what?_ ” Mako’s cheeks feel like they just caught fire, and he almost snaps the wooden spoon in half.

            “Yeah, Jimmy or Jamie…?” Fareeha just looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Isn’t that his name?”

            “I do _not_ have a boyfriend,” Mako growls, and he turns to glare at Ana who just grins apologetically at him and shrugs.

            “I might have misspoken,” she says and smirks at Mako.

            “He’s neither my friend nor a boy,” Mako huffs. “He’s a grown man, and he just lives here for a while.”

            “Well, where is he?” Fareeha asks impatiently, sitting down by the kitchen table. She is every bit as beautiful as her mother, except she’s taller and broader over the shoulders, and there’s an almost regal air over her. Mako almost feels sorry for the scores of boys who must be in love with her, because even if she was interested in boys, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

            “In the shower,” Mako grunts and instantly remembers that his hair probably looks awful. He hurries to adjust it. He had never in his life moved as fast as when he had leapt away from Jamie at the sound of Ana’s voice coming from downstairs, and he had immediately shoved Jamie into the bathroom and fleeing into the kitchen himself, adjusting his boner and wrapping the apron around himself to hide it even more.

            “He’s been cooking all day,” Mako explains. “Lost track of time.”

            “What kind of food is it?” Reinhardt asks, pushing his way into the already too stuffed kitchen. “Ana said there’s going to be no meat, but surely that’s not true!”

            Ana rolls her eyes. “You know, Reinhardt, it’s perfectly possible to survive one evening without meat.”

            “Yes, but…” Reinhardt says, leaning down to sniff the cherry sauce in the pot on the stove. “I love meat.”

            “Well, then you’ll just have to find someplace else to spend Christmas Eve,” Ana tells him, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow. Reinhardt immediately recoils and tells Mako that the cherry sauce smells lovely. Mako and Fareeha just snort quietly at each other; Reinhardt will do anything and everything Ana says without question, which is hilarious given the fact that he’s about three times her size.

            The kitchen is getting too crowded for Mako’s taste, so he ushers everyone out and into the living room instead. He has cleared the dining table this afternoon (it’s usually completely covered in paperwork and books) and set up a pretty nice arrangement if he should say so himself; he has covered the tabletop with a black and white Marimekko tablecloth and laid out his moss green Cathrineholm Lotus plates and Georg Jensen’s _Akkeleje_ silver cutlery set. In the middle of the table, Mako has placed a Hammershøi vase with a poinsettia to bring a little bit of Christmas spirit to the table. Ana and Fareeha compliment him on the table, and Reinhardt just asks for a beer. Jamie emerges from the bathroom a moment later (wrapped in one of Mako’s large towels, of course, because he is legitimately trying to end Mako’s life), quickly waving at people before zipping downstairs to get dressed. Mako hides in the kitchen until he comes back up, and when Mako sees him, he really wants to not just hide in the kitchen, but preferably stick his head into the oven and/or jump out the window as well.

            Because Jamie looks completely fucking amazing; his hair is as puffy as ever, and his cheeks are still a little flushed from the trip up the stairs. He’s wearing the knitted, blue Johnny sweater from Wood Wood that Mako by some miracle found in the second hand shop the other day, a pair of black jeans (not his old ones!) that are just on this side of too tight, and a pair of old H2O flip-flops that he had hauled back in his first loot from the Salvation Army store. The look is ridiculous and idiotically mismatched, and Mako is very ashamed to admit that it turns him on like a match to a house fire. Of course there’s the fact that Jamie doesn’t actually look different from his normal look, sans the leather jacket, but thanks to what transpired seconds before the guests arrived, Mako has apparently now become incapable of looking at Jamie without getting turned on—he can still feel Jamie’s tongue in his mouth contrasted those cool lip rings rubbing against his chin.

            “Jamie, you, uh, you know Ana and Reinhardt,” Mako says, scratching the back of his neck and trying really hard not to be awkward about the whole thing (he’s failing). “This is Ana’s daughter, Fareeha.”

            “Oh, g’day!” Jamie says happily—apparently totally oblivious to Mako’s awkwardness—and he shakes Fareeha’s outstretched hand with a wide smile. “That’s a nice name. Fareeha.”

            “Thanks,” Fareeha replies, and for one horrifying moment, Mako feels an ugly bubble of jealousy rise in his throat. He quickly swallows it down, though, and gives Reinhardt his beer and offers the rest of the company wine. He doesn’t meet Jamie’s eye as he fills his glass.

            Mako is a cock, there’s no doubt about that in Mako’s mind, but somehow the evening actually proceeds very nicely and pleasantly. Jamie heats up the food in the right order, and it tastes amazing—even Reinhardt is impressed. Jamie turns bright red under his freckles when they praise him, and he hurries to shove the compliments along to Mako as if paying for the ingredients means that Mako has had anything whatsoever to do with the final result. Fareeha is kind enough to point this out.

            “So, uh, are ya in school or…?” Jamie asks Fareeha, probably trying to steer the conversation away from himself. He does that pretty often when he gets praise, Mako has noticed.

            Fareeha nods. “I’m at the Royal Air Force College Cranwell in England right now.”

            “Bloody hell!” Jamie blurts out, making her laugh. “Yer a fighter pilot?”

            “Not fully trained yet, but yes,” she replies, flashing a proud smile at Mako. “I’m done in two years.”

            “Wow,” Jamie hums, licking his lips and taking a sip of wine. “How d’ya get that idea? I mean, bein’ a fighter pilot. Don’t meet many sheilas dreamin’ ‘bout that.”

            “I don’t know,” Fareeha says with a shrug. “It was just always my dream. Right, mom?”

            “It’s true,” Ana says, nodding.

            “How could she not be?” Reinhardt booms happily, working on his fourth beer. “It’s in her bl—ouch!”

            Whatever it was Ana’s hand did to Reinhardt under the table, it was very effective, because Reinhardt immediately shuts up and concentrates on his beer instead.

            “I think what Reinhardt means is that I’ve always told Fareeha that she could be whatever she wanted,” Ana says to Mako and Jamie. Mako glances at Jamie, and Jamie glances back. Mako has suspected that there is something about Ana’s past that she has never told him, but he has never asked, because she clearly doesn’t want him to know. He’s a little annoyed to learn that apparently Reinhardt knows about it, whatever it is.

            “Anyway,” Fareeha says, grinning a little as she pours herself another glass of wine (she eyes her mother first, and Ana nods), “what kind of music do you like, Jamie? Do you like new punk or old punk?”

            “Punk died in 1981,” Jamie says as he sends the big bowl of rice pudding around the table again.

            “You weren’t even born in 1981,” Mako snorts and elbows Jamie’s skinny arm, making him blush a little.

            “So? Just cause I ain’t some old whacka, it don’t mean I can’t appreciate good music!” he argues, and Ana proceeds to snort red wine out her nose. She goes straight into a half-coughing, half-laughing fit, and Reinhardt has to escort her to the bathroom to calm down and clean up. Fareeha is laughing, too.

            “Mako, I don’t care what happens,” Fareeha hiccups, wiping the corners of her eyes, “Jamie can’t be allowed to move out, ever.”

            “What? Why?” Jamie asks with a confused giggle.

            “No one talks to Mako like you do,” Fareeha says, still chuckling. “Everyone’s always afraid of him, and I think it’s healthy for him to have someone to call him an old wanker every now and then.”

            “I think it’s past your bedtime, pīni,” Mako growls, extremely keen on moving away from this subject of conversation. Fareeha just sticks her tongue out at him.

            “People are scared o’ya?” Jamie asks and looks genuinely surprised as he turns to look up at Mako. “Why?”

            “Because he doesn’t want anyone to get too close,” Ana’s voice rings out, and they all turn to look. Ana is standing in the door with nothing on her upper body than her bra. It’s white, but there are red stains on it. The red wine must have bled through her shirt. Reinhardt is standing behind her with her shirt in his large hands, his face almost the same color as the wine stain.

            “Mom, seriously?” Fareeha rolls her eyes. “You can’t have your boobs out on Christmas Eve.”

            Ana just shakes her head and huffs. “Jamie, do you have a shirt I can borrow? I think I can fit your clothes better than Mako’s.”

            “No kidding,” Mako grunts, secretly happy that the conversation about him seems to be over.

            “Yeah, sure, uh,” Jamie says, looking even more confused than before. “S’in the wardrobe downstairs. D’ya want me to show ya?”

            “I’ll be fine,” Ana says, shaking her head. “Thank you!”

            She leaves to go downstairs, leaving Reinhardt to stand there in the door, still clutching her soiled blouse and looking pretty embarrassed about the whole thing.

            “Give that to me,” Mako says, getting up from his chair to take the shirt from Reinhardt. “I’ll wash it for her.” He steps into the bedroom to toss the blouse into his laundry basket. He’s about to return to the living room when he sits down on the edge of the bed for a moment instead. So many things are happening inside his head right now that he feels a bit dizzy, although that might have something to do with the four glasses of wine he’s had. It’s nice to have a little moment to himself in here.

            The conversation in the living room has returned to music, and Jamie is telling Fareeha about the bands he likes; The Victims, Lime Spiders, and The Celibate Rifles. They’re all Australian, and Jamie says that although he mostly likes Australian punk music, he has discovered some of the local bands, too. Especially Sods and No Knox are his favorites. Fareeha hasn’t heard about any of them, but when Jamie tells her that Sods got a new name (Sort Sol) in ’81, she says that she does know them. Her favorite song of theirs is _Let Your Fingers Do The Walking_ , and Jamie agrees. Mako can hear him get up, and a moment later, the sound of the song rings out through the apartment (Jamie must have found Mako’s copy of the _Glamourpuss_ record. The recognizable guitar riff stirs memories in the back of Mako’s mind of the time when he’d just come to this country, running from his past and his grief. He glances down on his left arm, tracing a finger over the pattern there. He’s lost in thought, lost in memories—but no! He promised himself he wouldn’t think about Taika tonight, and it helps when D-A-D’s _Sleeping My Day Away_ blasts out the speakers in the living room (Jamie and Fareeha must have gotten into his record collection from the late 80s and early 90s).

            When Mako returns to the living room, Jamie is standing on his chair, headbanging and playing air guitar like there’s no tomorrow. Fareeha, Reinhardt, and Ana are clapping and cheering him on—Ana is wearing one of Jamie’s t-shirts, a white one with the word “ASS” written across the chest with permanent marker. Mako is pretty sure she’s only wearing it to fuck with him. He loves her a lot right in that moment, and the look she sends him makes him think that maybe she feels the same.

            “Alright, that’s enough,” Mako grunts as he grabs Jamie by the scruff of his neck and tugs him down from the chair. “You’re going to break my chair.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Jamie grins, rubbing his neck where Mako touched him. His cheeks are flushed and he looks at Mako and Mako looks back and Ana clears her throat, making Mako blink and turn away. He needs to stop touching Jamie, because it’s only going to end badly.

            “I think we should head home,” Ana says, getting to her feet with a smile that much too knowing for Mako’s liking. “It’s getting late.”

            “Aw, mom, it’s only 11:30,” Fareeha complains.

            “Jamie and Mako have been preparing for this all day,” Ana says, putting a hand on Reinhardt’s shoulder (he instantly gets to his feet), “and I’m sure they’re tired.”

            Mako really doesn’t want them to go, but he also really want them to get the hell out of the apartment, because Jamie is still blushing, and it’s doing terrible, unspeakable things to Mako and his restraint. He argues a bit, even if it’s just for show, but eventually agrees that yes, maybe they should call it a night. Ana promises to return Jamie’s shirt next time they see each other, and Mako feels a ball of tight nervousness stir in his chest as the guests put on their coats. If they leave now, which they will, he’s going to be alone with Jamie, and last time they were alone, bad things happened. Mako is sufficiently drunk at this point that he isn’t sure he can prevent the same bad things from happening a second time.

            Ana hugs him and kisses his cheek, and Fareeha does the same—Reinhardt thankfully just pats his shoulder and thanks him for being a great host, and then they’re gone. Mako closes the door behind them down in the shop, then turns and finds Jamie standing there at the bottom of the stairs, looking a bit awkward. He scratches through his puffy hair and actually has the nerve to look down at his own feet like he’s nervous about something. This is unforgivable.

            “Hey,” Mako mutters, struggling to ignore the urge to tug Jamie close, “I got something for you.”

            “For me?” Jamie looks like he’s just fallen from the moon.

            “Yeah.” Mako rubs over his head; is he going to regret this? Quite possibly. “Go wait in the living room.”

            Jamie nods and climbs the stairs, and Mako sighs. This is definitely a bad idea, but he has already prepared the present ages ago, and it would be stupid to go back on it now. He goes into the workshop and opens the cabinet in the corner where he has been stashing Jamie’s presents. Had he cared at all about these things, Mako might have wrapped them up nicely, but he really doesn’t, so he leaves the workshop with a heavy cardboard box in his hands. and a small, brown paper bag in his pocket. When he arrives in the living room, Jamie is sitting on the couch, two full glasses of red wine on the coffee table in front of him and the sound of Sort Sol playing on the record player. He looks nervous, and it makes Mako nervous.

            “Here,” Mako grunts and places the cardboard box on the coffee table before grabbing his glass. “It’s nothing special. Just, uh—just thought maybe you’d like it.”

            “But I didn’t get ya anythin’,” Jamie says, shifting closer to the table to stroke his hand over the top of the box.

            “You literally have no money,” Mako huffs and walks around the table to sit down at the other end of the couch. “Don’t worry about it.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah, just open the damn box.”

            Jamie opens the box and looks into it. He frowns at first, clearly not really realizing what is in the box, but then his face changes, and he looks up at Mako with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

            “Help me get it out, mate,” he says, because it’s too heavy to lift out of the box with only one hand. Mako already knew this.

            He leans closer and holds the box with one hand while helping Jamie lift the machine out with the other. They place it on the coffee table, and Jamie instantly leans close to inspect it. It’s an old welding machine, which really isn’t that special, but Jamie looks at it like it’s the most precious gem ever to be discovered.

            “Just, uh,” Mako mutters, sitting back and shifting a bit, “figured if you wanted to start doing that art thing, you’d need one of these.”

            “Blimey,” Jamie breathes, and he sits up straight and turns his head to look at Mako. “That’s—that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.”

            “Yeah, well,” Mako grunts, shifting again. He’s not comfortable with the way Jamie is looking at him, so he digs into his pocket and finds the little paper bag. “Here. This is for you, too.” He tosses it into Jamie’s lap.

            “It’s nothing special,” he hurries to add while Jamie to tearing the bag open. “Just—I don’t know. Some stupid fucking thing.”

            Jamie pinches the bag against his chest with his stump and tears the paper with his hand. The shitty, plastic Mickey Mouse watch that Mako found in the second hand store dumps into his lap. Mako already regrets this whole thing, because Jamie is going to think it’s stupid. Or maybe not? Jamie just picks up the watch and inspects it closer.

            “It looks like a rat,” Mako explains when Jamie hasn’t said anything for a few seconds. “You like rats, right? It kind of looked like a rat, so I thought maybe you’d like it.” Oh god, what the hell is he doing? And what the hell is Jamie doing in his lap all of a sudden? This is not okay.

            “I do like it,” Jamie says as he straddles Mako’s lap and gazes into Mako’s eyes. “It’s bloody bonzer, mate.”

            Mako hardly even realizes as he slips his hands up Jamie’s back and cups the back of his neck, tugging him closer and closer until their lips meet.

            The kiss starts out a lot less urgent and intense than their first one earlier today; they both know what they’re doing this time, and even though Mako’s brain is screaming at him to stop, Mako doesn’t stop. Jamie’s lips are soft and taste like red wine, and his hand is roaming over Mako’s chest and into his hair once again. Mako tugs him closer up against his gut, and Jamie purrs into his mouth like a goddamn kitten, and it’s almost too much. Mako wants to end this; he wants to shove Jamie away and tell him that this is a really bad idea, but then Jamie breaks him.

            “Take me to bed,” he breathes against Mako’s lips, and Mako is fucking done for. He’s off the couch in a second, carrying Jamie to the bedroom where he dumps Jamie on the mattress before crawling onto the bed and kissing him again. Jamie moans into his mouth, curling himself around Mako in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Mako’s head is spinning, and all he can really register is Jamie’s hand that seems to be several places on his body at once. It’s in his hair, scratching over his back through his shirt, and—Mako growls softly—on his dick that’s already straining against the front of his slacks. Jamie’s long, slender fingers snake over his cock, and the sensation is somehow amplified by the fabric stretched tight over the bulge. Mako shudders and pushes against the devil hand, letting out a rumbling purr around Jamie’s pierced tongue.

            “Sit back, mate,” Jamie whispers, pulling out of the kiss. “Wanna suck ya.”

            Mako doesn’t need to be told twice; yeah, sure, this is a really bad idea, he knows this, but a gorgeous, willing twink just told Mako that he wants Mako’s dick in his mouth, and there is no way that Mako is going to let that opportunity slide, no matter how awful an idea it is. So Mako sits back like Jamie told him to, and Jamie pushes him further down until he lies flat on his back. Mako can’t see Jamie like this, but it doesn’t matter than much, because he can feel him. Jamie is tugging Mako’s shirt out of his pants, pushing it up to bare his belly, and then he leans down to trace the tip of his tongue along the tattoos there. It tickles a bit, and Mako has to concentrate on not snorting as Jamie’s tongue travels lower.

            “Fuck,” Mako breathes out when Jamie tugs the front of his slacks open. This is ridiculous; he’s a grown man with lots of sexual experience, and still he’s about to fucking come just because this little twink is opening his pants? That’s bullshit. Except… Mako can call bullshit as much as he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to come when Jamie starts panting as he tugs Mako’s boxer briefs down enough to free his cock and nestle the waistband under his balls. The air in the room is hot, but it feels cold against his swollen cock, and it jerks, smacking softly up against the underside of Mako’s belly.

            It’s too much, and Mako has to prop himself up on his elbows so he can actually see. He’s just in time to see Jamie wrap his hand around his thick dick and lean down with his double-pierced tongue out.

            A much too helpless yelp bursts out of Mako when Jamie’s mouth engulfs the head of his cock, and he actually had to fist his hands in the sheet to keep himself just somewhat in control. At this point it doesn’t even matter if Jamie is good at sucking cock or not; Mako is so pent up that even a complete novice would make him feel incredible, and his eyes roll back in his head as his dick sinks deeper into Jamie’s warm mouth.

            “Shit,” he groans out, already huffing and puffing hard. “Don’t stop.”

            And Jamie doesn’t stop; no, he keeps going like he wants Mako to lose his mind. His hand to squeezing tightly—almost too tightly—around the base of Mako’s cock while his mouth and tongue slide over the shaft, tracing and teasing every line of ink and every vein, and Mako is so embarrassingly close that it’s not even funny. But Jamie’s vice-like grip is not letting him come just like that, and Mako squirms on the mattress.

            “I…” he breathes out, twitching and arching, while trying to get accustomed to the fact that no, he’s actually no in any kind of control of this situation at all. “I want to come.”

            “Say please,” Jamie responds, lifting his head to smirk at Mako, and Mako is shocked to his very core. What the fuck is wrong with this kid that makes him think that he can boss Mako ar— _ngh!_

            Jamie squeezes harder around the base of Mako’s cock while scraping his teeth over the swollen and overly sensitive head, and Mako’s resistance crumbles like crackers in rain.

            “Please!” Mako grunts out, and he’s immediately rewarded for his compliance; Jamie loosens his grip around the base of his cock and instead uses his hand to jerk Mako off, his spit-slicked fingers gliding and twisting over the hard shaft. He looks up at Mako’s face, and Mako just has time to catch the wicked glint in Jamie’s eye before he comes. His dick swells in Jamie’s fist and explodes in a hot gush of come that blobs over Jamie’s fingers and trickles down to his wrist.

            Mako’s head is spinning and he swears he can feel his heartbeat in his dick, still clutched in Jamie’s hand. Is this some strange dream or a nightmare? If it is, then why is Jamie crawling up and kissing him? Mako only remembers blurred flashes of them getting undressed and Jamie curling up in his sheets before he falls asleep.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! There is it! They finally did it (well, some of it!).
> 
> I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations, and don't worry, there will be much more filth to come. You've already gotten a taste of what Jamie's into, and hopefully you're hungry for more x) We'll just have to see if Mako wants to play ball or not.
> 
> If you want to yell at me, you can do so on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit) and/or [Tumblr](https://rabbitvswonderland.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Also, this chapter was brought to you by:  
> SODS: [[song link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4B_lRmP-fc)]  
> No Knox: [[song link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAZwZoLkmA8)]  
> Sort Sol: [[Let Your Fingers Do The Walking](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwNERfH5RDg)]  
> D-A-D: [[I'm Sleeping My Day Away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASfVIFUw20Y)]  
> Jamie's ASS shirt [[shamelessly stolen from Fin](http://fingurken.tumblr.com/post/160676546544)]


	10. The Oculus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after, and Mako is trying to figure out he's waking up naked...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short lil' chapter, but I hope you'll like it!

*

 

There’s something bright white burning through Mako’s eyelids. It should be nice and warm, but it’s ice cold, and Mako can feel the skin on his chest shrink and rise in goose bumps. He wants to recoil, hide from the bright, cold light, but he’s still asleep, and his muscles don’t obey the orders from his waking brain yet. He can feel his nipples hardening in the cold, but it’s not until a powerful shudder rushes through him that his body is finally kicked into life. His eyes slowly open, squinting in the bright light, and Mako rolls over, tugging the duvet over himself while groggily trying to find out what’s going on. It only takes one glance at the window to solve the mystery; the window is cracked and the blinds haven’t been shut. Cold air is streaming into the room accompanied by the pale winter sun light. It must be late—past 10 at least—because the mornings are still dark at this time of year.

            Mako gets out of bed, shuddering and rubbing his chest, and walks up to the window to shut it and draw the blinds shut to block out the too bright sun. He half-wonders why he’s naked and not in his pajamas, and the answer comes at him like a runaway train when he turns to get back to bed; Jamie.

            Jamie is lying curled up in Mako’s bed. He has pulled the duvet over himself so only a tuft of his reddish blond hair is visible, but there’s no doubt about it; it’s Jamie, and Mako stands here in the cold room, all the memories of last night coming flooding back to him. The kiss, Jamie’s muscles moving under his freckled skin, Jamie’s maddening tongue, Jamie’s fingers in his hair, Jamie’s mouth on his cock…

            Even in the cold room, Mako’s shrunken cock stirs a bit, but before Mako can even begin to process what has happened, he needs to get out of the freezing air. So he slips back under the duvet, careful not to wake or touch Jamie. What has he done? He hadn’t even been that drunk, but he still did the thing he had sworn he wouldn’t do. Well, okay, he hadn’t actually sworn anything, but it’s still all kinds of fucked up, because Jamie lives here, and everyone knows you don’t shit where you eat. It will definitely end badly, and Mako is going to feel like shit. In fact, he already feels like shit, because Jamie is just a kid, and he’s homeless, and maybe he only did this because he felt like he owes Mako something? Fuck, did Mako inadvertently make Jamie prostitute himself? Mako filters through his panicking brain to try and remember if he’s ever said or done anything that would make Jamie think that he expected to be paid in blowjobs. But he can’t think of anything. Actually, he can only remember explicitly telling Jamie that the only payment he wanted was Jamie cooking every now and then. But maybe Mako has somehow implied it? Or maybe Jamie just found him so pathetic that he figured he’d do Mako a favor? Does Mako really come off that desperate that he’d take in a homeless kid in the hopes of getting laid? What the hell kind of person does Jamie even think he is?

            Mako manages to quietly but effectively work himself up to a point where he’s furious with Jamie, and he gets even more upset when Jamie doesn’t immediately wakes up and explains himself. It doesn’t matter how hard Mako stares at the tuft of hair poking out from under the duvet; Jamie can’t read his thoughts, and that just pisses Mako off even more. He’s just about to open his mouth and bark at Jamie to wake up when Jamie grunts and rolls over under the duvet. He tosses and shuffles a bit around before eventually snuggling up against Mako’s belly and chest. He’s soft and warm, and his hot breath tickles against Mako’s skin. There’s something even hotter pressing up against Mako’s skin as well, and Mako belatedly realizes that not only is Jamie naked, but his erection is poking up against the underside of Mako’s belly. Did Jamie even get off last night? Mako is kind of embarrassed that he doesn’t even remember. He’s usually pretty careful to make sure that, though he will probably never sleep with them again, his sexual partners always leave his bed fulfilled. Mako doesn’t want to get a reputation for being a shitty lay. Then again, nothing about Jamie is usual. He’s not just some random twink Mako has picked up in a bar; Mako knows stuff about Jamie, knows and his hopes and even some of his fears, and then there was that thing he made Mako do last night…

            A brief, tingling shudder flutters up Mako’s spine when he remembers how Jamie’s fingers had squeezed the base of his dick and how Jamie had made him say “please”. The men Mako usually sleeps with are much too young, submissive and/or excited to ever try to pull off something like that, but Jamie had just done it like it was second nature to him. Mako has always regarded himself as a dominant top (not that he was into Dom/sub at all, mind!), so why is thinking about Jamie making him beg getting his dick this hard? Mako grunts and frowns into Jamie’s puffy hair that’s tickling his chin; this kid is really something else.

            Well, and then there’s the fact that he seems to know exactly what he’s doing in bed, as well as the fact that he’s definitely not as ugly as he comes off. At first glance, Jamie isn’t exactly a supermodel with his reddish blond hair, too-long, too-skinny body, crooked teeth, and freckled face. All he really needs are thick specs and bracers, and then he’d the picture perfect nerd. But at a closer glance, Jamie isn’t ugly at all. Mako isn’t really sure what it is that changes, but something definitely does, and he doesn’t believe in that shit about knowing someone better makes them look more beautiful, but Jamie is honestly not some kind of Mother Theresa twink or even anything less spectacular. He’s just Jamie, a kind of weird, but pretty regular guy, and Mako can’t for the life of him figure out what the fuck it is that draws him to Jamie. In general, though, because right now it’s pretty easy to figure out what’s drawing Mako to Jamie, and it’s the way Jamie has begun rutting up against his gut, huffing softly against Mako’s chest as his dick slides over Mako’s belly.

            “What’re you doing?” Mako grunts, his voice gravelly and husky with sleep.

            “Rootin’ with ya,” Jamie grunts back, snickering against Mako’s skin. “I’m toey, mate.”

            “You’re what?” Mako knows he should be stopping this nonsense right now, but he doesn’t. He lets it continue, and it will probably be the death of him.

            “Toey,” Jamie repeats with a breathless giggle. “Ah—m’horny.”

            “And what I am, your personal fuck pillow?”

            “If ya wanna,” Jamie snorts, finally craning his neck back so he can grin up at Mako. Fuck, he looks perfectly edible like this with flushed cheeks and pillow creases imprinted on his freckled face. “Or maybe you’d want to do somethin’ with those big mitts of yers.”

            “Like what?” What the hell is wrong with him? What is up with all these questions? There’s a sleepy, gorgeous boy in his bed, literally rutting up against him, and here Mako is, asking all kinds of irrelevant questions when he could be sucking cock. It’s despicable, and Mako is honestly a little embarrassed over himself.

            “Like this,” Jamie hums with a wide, lewd smile as he takes one of Mako’s hands and leads it to his ass. “You was gonna do somethin’ like that yesterday when we was interrupted, weren’t ya?”

            “Maybe,” Mako huffs, and he lets Jamie guide his hand. Jamie’s ass is as skinny as the rest of him, but there’s still enough meat there for Mako to grab a good handful and squeeze it. Jamie moans and arches into the touch. Everything is so easy with him. How does he do that?

            “Harder,” Jamie whispers, and he lets out a grunt of a giggle, shuddering up against Mako, when Mako does as he’s told and squeezes harder. “Harder!”

            “You’re going to bruise.”

            “I know,” Jamie snickers, and his eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a long, shuddering moan when Mako squeezes him even harder.

            “You’re weird,” Mako grunts, but his dick seems to be of a different opinion. Well, it doesn’t seem to care that Jamie is weird anyway. It’s curving up towards Mako’s belly, and it jerks and smacks Jamie’s thigh when he squirms and brushes against it.

            “Maybe a bit. So?” Jamie grins up at him and shifts up to lick over Mako’s lips.

            Mako huffs and leans closer so he can press a kiss against Jamie’s mouth, a kiss that Jamie welcomes by opening his mouth for Mako’s tongue. A soft purr bubbles up from Jamie’s throat and vibrates against Mako’s lips, and he arches against Mako, spreading his lips and resting one on Mako’s hip. It takes about one second for Mako to slide his fingers further down, pushing them between Jamie’s buttocks, just like he’d wanted to do when they had first kissed. Jamie sucks in a short breath when Mako’s index finger rubs over his hole, but Mako doesn’t stop there. He slides his fingers further down, down between Jamie’s thighs, and he intends to rub over Jamie’s taint, but his yanks his hand away when it encounters something weird, warm, and hard. Something metallic.

            “What the fuck is that?” Mako asks, pulling out of the kiss to look at his fingers as if he might have cut them.

            “Hm? Oh!” Jamie laughs. “Remember I told ya I had one piercin’ that ain’t normally visible?”

            “Yeah, so?”

            Jamie smirks and kicks the duvet off them. The air is still cold in the room, and Mako is instantly covered goose bumps. Jamie doesn’t seem to mind the cold, though, because he gets up on his knees and turns his back to Mako.

            “See?” he spreads his legs wide and leans forward, arching his back in an extremely lewd display. Mako is about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when he spots it; there’s a barbell (black, of course) pierced right through Jamie’s taint, and Mako can’t stop staring at it. It’s just so… so provoking and obscene and stupidly sexy.

            “So? Whaddaya thi— _ah!_ ”

            Mako’s tongue is already on Jamie’s skin; he grabs Jamie by the hips to hold him in place as he rubs the flat of his tongue over the piercing, his stubbly cheeks scratching over Jamie’s buttocks. The pale, freckled, and already bruised skin there quickly turns raw and red, but Jamie doesn’t seem to care. He’s pushing back against Mako’s tongue, moaning and giggling with every breath.

            “Yeah, I like that, mate,” Jamie pants, rocking back against Mako. “Like doin’ that, eh? Yer so good at it. Mm’just—keep goin’. That’s a good lad.”

            Mako would have laughed at being called “a good lad” by a kid who’s about half his age if the praise hadn’t gone straight to his cock. Still, even as he moves a bit further up to tease and lap over Jamie’s hole, Mako wonders what the hell kind of spell this kid has him under, making him do and react to things he has never had any interest in before. Jamie mewls and pushes back against his tongue. He leans down to press his cheek against the mattress and it frees his arm so he can reach down between his legs and jerk himself off.

            “Keep goin’, keep goin’, mate,” Jamie breathes out, trying to urge Mako to move his tongue faster by rolling his hips and rocking back and forth. “That’s it, that’s—fuck, don’t stop.”

            Jamie lets out a surprisingly soft gasp when he comes, and Mako pulls back just in time to see how he trembles all over and how all the fine, blond hairs on his long body stand up straight as he stains Mako’s 200 thread count, Italian sheets. Mako doesn’t even think to complain about it, because it’s too busy straightening up on his knees, tugging Jamie closer. Jamie seems too dazed to ask what’s going on, and as long as he doesn’t complain, Mako isn’t going to stop. He pushes Jamie’s thighs tightly together before shoving his cock in between them, aiding by his own spit that’s still dribbling down from Jamie’s ass.

            Mako lets out a rumbling purr as he pushes through the slickness, and his tightens his grip on Jamie’s hips as he begins thrusting. Jamie is giggling weakly, shuddering gently when the head of Mako’s fat cock bumps against the back of his balls.

            “Gonna get off, big boy?” Jamie purrs softly between his breathy snickers. “Think m’gonna let ya, eh?”

            Jamie has the nerve to actually squeeze his thighs even tighter together, trapping Mako’s dick between them. The pain sends a spike of pleasure up Mako’s spine, and he almost doubles over, grunting and huffing when Jamie doesn’t let up.

            “That hurts,” Mako breathes, but his dick is harder than ever, and he knows Jamie can feel that. “Let me move.”

            “Do ya know the magic word?” Jamie snickers, tightening his muscles just a little bit to send another splash of pain through Mako.

            “Ngh’fuck! Come on,” Mako gasps, digging his fingers into Jamie’s skinny hips.

            “Magic word!”

            “Please,” Mako hisses out through his gritted teeth, simultaneously hating and loving everything about this. How is this happening _again_ in less than 24 hours? He can’t see Jamie’s face, but he just knows that the brat is smirking, but it doesn’t matter, because a second later, Jamie eases the pressure between his thighs, and Mako seizes the opportunity to start moving again. Jamie’s skin is warm and slick with spit and now the precome leaking from Mako’s cock as well, and it feels amazing. Mako leans down, weighing down on Jamie with his big belly as he thrusts harder and groans against Jamie’s freckled and tattooed shoulder blades.

            “C’mon, mate,” Jamie chuckles, shoving his hand between his thighs to rub his fingers around the veined underside of Mako’s cock. “Show me how hard yer gonna come.”

            For some reason that Mako really doesn’t want to investigate further, that’s the thing that pushes Mako over the edge. His dick swells between Jamie’s thighs, and Mako lets out a shuddering groan as he coats the insides of Jamie’s thighs with thick spurts of come (he adds to the mess on the sheets, too).

            Mako sighs and leans his head against the cool tiles when he’s standing in the shower 10 minutes later. Jamie is—well, Mako doesn’t know what Jamie is doing right now, and he honestly doesn’t care either. He’s busy trying to figure out what the hell has happened since yesterday. But he doesn’t have an answer, no matter how hard he thinks on it; Jamie is a ridiculous, formerly homeless anarchist, who makes little to no sense, and he has the nerve to boss Mako around in bed, and Mako just does as he’s told like the spineless worm he is. Jamie had wanted to go again, but Mako had excused himself and said he wanted a shower. He needs to get a hold of himself and the gigantic mess inside his brain, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to do about it right now. No matter how hard he tries to sort through the mess, the only thing he can think of is when he will get to get naked with Jamie again. He just doesn’t understand; he’s usually better than great at staying emotionally distant and disconnected from the men he fucks, but this time it’s different. It’s not like he has _feelings_ for Jamie (fuck no), but there’s something different about him that Mako just can’t put a finger on, and it’s driving him fucking crazy.

            “Oi!” Jamie slams on the bathroom door. “What’s the holdup? I gotta use the shit house, mate!”

            Mako groans and rolls his eyes behind his closed eyelids. What did he do to deserve this?

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, that's it for now! This was pretty much just a smut chapter, but don't worry! We will get back to our regular schedule of torturing Mako soon enough!
> 
> I hope y'all liked the chapter :) 
> 
> If you're interested it, you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit) or [Tumblr](https://rabbitvswonderland.tumblr.com/)!


	11. The Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's summer, and the city is light and warm, and the people are happy. But Mako isn't happy at all. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello, and welcome to chapter 11!
> 
> I've been suffering from a bitch of a writer's block, which is why this update has been so delayed. The block isn't over yet, but I managed to finish this chapter, and that makes me happy :) I hope you'll like it and be patient with me until I'm over this stupid block.
> 
> Enjoy!

*

 

The best thing about living in a country this far up north is the changing of the seasons, specifically the change from winter into spring, and spring into summer. It’s the time of year where the dark and wet winter months with only a few hours of daylight per day are replaced by mild spring mornings, where the naked branches on trees and bushes are covered in a myriad of frail, bright green baby leaves. It had taken Mako a while to understand why people here were so excited about beech trees and their leaves, but it hadn’t taken him many long and dark winters to learn to appreciate the first green leaves on the beech trees as the bulletproof sign that spring is definitely here. And then when spring turns into summer, and the nights go light, the sun never sets, and people gather in parks, gardens, street cafes, waterfronts to hang out, drink chilled white wine and enjoy the warm summer nights. Mako has absolutely no intention of moving to another country, but if he ever did move, the changing of the seasons would probably what he’d miss the most. He has spent many summers here now, and they have all been good, but they have also all been the same. This summer is not the same at all.

            “Right, let’s get this barbie goin’, baby!”

            Mako resists the urge to roll his eyes, but he does turn away from Jamie, who’s in the process of emptying a bottle of lighter fluid onto the coals in the large barbeque they have rented. He’s wearing a black racer back tank top with the anarchy symbol painted on and a pair of pink shorts that are way too short for a grown man, but of course Jamie doesn’t care, and he apparently enjoys showing off his long, freckled legs. Mako isn’t sure how it’s physically possible, but Jamie has actually managed to get a tiny bit of a tan, which mostly means that his freckles have darkened and multiplied. It’s the annual summer party for the shops on the street, which, excluding Ana, Mako and Reinhardt, count little Swedish guy who owns an antique gun shop, a record shop of so-called world music, owned by a very energetic Brazilian guy, and finally a small yoga studio that’s run by an annoyingly happy gay couple, Genji and Zenyatta. Mako knows all of them by name and face, but he rarely talks with any of them outside the summer party. Or rather, that’s what it used to be like, because after Jamie moved into Mako’s shop, Mako has been seeing a lot more of people in general. Jamie is a lot—like,  _a lot_ —more outgoing than Mako, and he has invited several of the other shop owners over for coffee more than once. Mako would be annoyed with him if it hadn’t turned out that they are very nice (maybe not exactly Mako’s type of people in general, but still nice), and it had turned also out that he and Torbjörn, the owner of the antique gun shop, could actually do some business with each other which had turned out very lucrative for both of them. So Mako has forgiven Jamie, but he doesn’t like to talk about that. He doesn’t like to talk about what happened over Christmas either. It’s almost seven months since Mako had woken up with Jamie in his bed, and Jamie hasn’t set foot in Mako’s bedroom since then. They never talked about it, because Mako had been too weirded out, and Jamie had been socially adept enough to sense that Mako did not want to discuss the matter. The first week after Christmas had been awkward and kind of strained, but when they had started helping each other setting up Jamie’s corner of the workshop, things had slowly gone back to normal. They had talked and joked a little, and Mako had been relieved to find that apparently their good relation hadn’t fucked up by his inability to keep his dick to himself—not that what happened had solely been his fault; Jamie had had a good deal of the blame, too, but Mako is the oldest here and should really have known better.

            “You seem distracted, Mako.”

            Mako looks up from the beer he has been nursing to look into the large, brown and friendly eyes of Zenyatta. He’s a pretty tall, bald Tibetan man, always wearing a smile, very colorful robes of flax fabric, and a couple of golden bracelets, and he always smells of patchouli and weed. He never raises his deep, soft, almost hypnotic voice, but he never has to either; somehow it’s impossible to miss anything he says. He’s very nice, and a strange companion to his loud, semi-obnoxious, flamboyant boyfriend, Genji, but Mako really isn’t in the mood to talk about chakras or breathing exercises. So he just shakes his head and decides to lie even though he’s very familiar with Zenyatta’s slightly freaky ability to always tell when someone is lying.

            “Just work,” he grunts, taking a swig of his beer.

            Zenyatta is on to him right away, but he just smiles and gives Mako’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Work can be stressful sometimes. I still think daily mediation would do you good, Mako.”

            “Yeah, thanks,” Mako says, offering Zenyatta the most convincing smile he can muster, which probably isn’t very convincing. Zenyatta seems to get the hint, because he just smiles and nods at Mako, then leaves him alone to go help Ana with the food. Mako sighs and watches him.

            They have closed off the alley and put up the giant barbeque at the cul-de-sac. A little further up the street they have set up tables and chairs and a stereo with a soundboard behind which Lúcio, the owner of the record shop, is currently setting up a playlist for the evening. Mako isn’t a huge fan of the house-ish music that Lúcio seems to like, but it could be a lot worse, and as long as he keeps the volume down enough for it to  be just background music, Mako can relatively easily filter it out. Next to the barbeque, over which Jamie is now arguing with Torbjörn (who’s about half his size) about who should be head chef, Ana has set up a table for food preparation. It’s currently covered in rows of shish kebab skewers with everything anyone could ever want to eat; some skewers with chicken, some with beef, lamb, shrimp, and some strictly vegetarian. Ana is in the middle of brushing them with spicy marinade. They smell delicious, and they haven’t even been put on the grill yet. The air is mild and light, and Mako should be happy; it’s a lovely summer’s evening, people around him are having fun, there’s good food on the way, and he’s holding a cold beer in his hand. And it’s not like Mako is unhappy, because he really does appreciate all these things, but still, he can’t really find it in himself to be _happy_ happy. He has felt like this for a while now, and Ana has bothered him about it a few times, too, trying to get him to tell her what is bothering him, but he can’t really tell her something that he doesn’t know himself. All he knows is that he’s wanted to distance himself from people, so that’s what he has been doing. He and Jamie still have dinner together every night, and Jamie entertains Mako with all his ideas for art projects and sculptures, and how he’s trying to get into that little art gallery on the other side of the canal, because that would be a big break for him, but they don’t spend much time together outside of dinner. Well, okay, they actually spend most of the day in the same room—the workshop where Mako is restoring furniture, and Jamie is fiddling with his different art ideas—and Jamie spends most of the day talking at Mako in a constant stream of consciousness, but Mako rarely listens and usually only replies in grunts and hums.  

            “Mako, you’re not drinking your beer!” A large, heavy hand collides with Mako’s back as Reinhardt comes up behind him with a hearty laugh, almost making him drop his beer in surprise. “They’re imported all the way from Stuttgart, my old hometown! Very good, strong beer!”

            Mako is usually never in the mood to Reinhardt’s loudness—Mako is a quiet, thoughtful person, and Reinhardt is the exact opposite—but for some reason, this turns out to be exactly what Mako needs; he wants something loud, something fun, and something that can make him forget whatever it is that’s been bothering him. So he actually smiles at Reinhardt—Reinhardt looks almost shocked to see it—and lifts his beer to take a large gulp from it. Reinhardt rewards his small fling with extrovertness by teaching him scores of German drinking songs, and an hour later, Mako’s spirits have been lifted considerable. He even ventures into a lengthy conversation with Genji when Mako accidentally admits that he has a secret passion for Pachimari, a passion that Genji immediately confesses to share as well. Genji offers Mako warm sake, and although Mako isn’t normally into anything but red and white wine, he accepts and quickly realizes that it’s delicious. The warm alcohol goes straight to his head, and he finds himself actually laughing loudly at one of Reinhardt’s stupid jokes. As he stretches on his chair and twists around to grab another beer from the ice box on the ground, Mako’s gaze locks with Jamie’s. Jamie must have been watching Mako for a while, because he looks jumpy and not at all like the look shared between them is just a random accident. Something twists inside Mako’s chest; Jamie’s cheeks and ears are a bit flushed (from the sun or something else?), and his face is soft in a way Mako hasn’t seen before. He almost looks—timid, which is a strange look for Jamie. He holds Mako’s gaze for a second or two, almost as if he doesn’t realize they’re looking at each other, and then he looks down at the food he’s cooking, smiling at bit to himself as he flips the skewers. Mako has no idea what the hell is going on, but he knows that if he were white, his cheeks would probably be bright pink right now, and it’s not solely because of the booze.

            “Say, Mako,” Reinhardt leans in to say, and Mako tears his eyes away from Jamie, “forgive me if it’s none of my business…”

            “It probably is.”

            “…I’ve just noticed that your friend Jamie has been spending a lot of time in Ana’s shop,” Reinhardt continues unaffected by Mako’s comment, “and I can’t help but wonder if maybe you had a falling out. He didn’t spend as much time with us when he just moved in.”

            It takes Mako a moment to answer, because he actually had no idea. In hindsight, though, it was probably stupid of him to assume that Jamie would just be sitting alone in his room all night while Mako was hiding up in his apartment, but it had never occurred to him that Jamie wasn’t doing just that.

            “Maybe he just wants the free coffee,” Mako grunts and shrugs. He doesn’t really know how he should feel about this. Well, he knows how he feels about it, but he doesn’t _want_ to feel slightly hurt by the fact that Jamie seems to be making friends with other people without Mako, but that’s exactly how he feels. It’s idiotic, because Jamie isn’t even really his friend (is he?), and it’s unfair as well. Jamie shouldn’t be forced to spend every night alone in his room just because Mako is jealous. Is that was he is, jealous? That’s really not good, and Mako has to stop this nonsense right away. He shakes his head a bit, as if that might shake the feeling out of his head, and pops open his beer to take a gulp. Reinhardt has thankfully been distracted by an argument with Lúcio about music, and Mako pushes away from the table and gets up. He’s honestly not even sure where he’s going, but he needs to get away from the crowd for a bit.

            “Need to charge my phone,” Mako mouths to Ana who catches his eye with an arched eyebrow. It’s a half truth, because his phone actually is running out of power, but under normal circumstances, Mako wouldn’t have cared and just let it run dry. He edges around the table and heads for his shop, digging his phone out of his pocket to stress his cover story. He closes the door behind him, and he was actually going to go upstairs to his apartment, but instead he comes to a stop in the middle of the display, leaning against a mahogany coffee table by Kaare Klint. For the first time in many, many years, Mako has no idea where he should go or what he should do. He’s drunk, which doesn’t help, and he drops his phone on the floor to rub both hands over his face. He doesn’t belong here, and those people outside? They’re not his friends. Not really. When they find out what he really is, the things he has done in his past life, they will abandon him, and Mako will be left alone, just like back then, and he will have to move and make a new life for himself somewhere else. His heart begins to race, and he feels short of breath. Maybe he should just go now? Spare himself the hurt and humiliation? He has enough money saved up to settle down somewhere else in a different country, and he could change his name so no one could ever find him again. He could do it. He could go out the backdoor of the shop, and no one would notice until he'd be far, far away. If only he could make this noise stop. It’s Lúcio and his awful music! Mako can’t really hear the music, but he can hear the bass rhythm, thumping against his eardrums like a battering ram. It’s making the entire building shake, and the windows are chinking in their panes, and Mako’s head feels like it’s about to explode along with his eardrums, and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, and he’s going to go insane if that music doesn’t stop, and fuck, Mako feels like he’s about to pass out when he realizes that it isn’t music at all; it’s his own heartbeat that’s slamming so hard against his ribcage that it feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. Is this how he dies? Is he having a stroke? Why can’t he hear anything, why can’t he move? Why is everything around him going dark?

            “Mako?”

            Mako literally jumps when there’s suddenly a hand on his shoulder, and without thinking about it he whirls around and throws a punch.

            “Whoa!” Jamie yelps, narrowly dodging Mako’s tattooed fist. “What the bloody fuck, mate? I’m just tryin’ to tell ya that food’s done, and yer just fuckin’—Mako? You alright, mate?”

            Jamie’s face changes from outrage to concern. His bushy brows draw close together over his pointy, freckled nose as he frowns at Mako. Mako doesn’t understand; Jamie can’t possible see the raging chaos that’s going on inside his head, but Jamie reaches out for him, carefully like he’s reaching for a scared animal, and gently takes his big hand.

            “Hey,” Jamie says, his voice softer than Mako has ever heard it before. “Hey, let’s sit down, okay?”

            Mako is pretty sure that Jamie knows magic, because when he touches Mako’s hand, the loud thumping suddenly slows and quiets down a lot. Mako follows Jamie without question, too out of it to really resist or explain himself, and Jamie leads him through the shop and into his room where he gently but firmly sits Mako down on the bed. Once he has made sure that Mako is comfortable, Jamie disappears for a moment, but he’s back a short while later with a big glass of water.

            “Here,” he says and sits down, handing the glass to Mako. “Drink this and try and take some deep breaths, yeah?”

            Mako nods and takes a big gulp of water. It’s cold, and it soothes as it travels down his throat. Jamie’s hand is on his shoulder again, gently stroking it and traveling further up. It rests there across the wide stretch of the back of Mako’s neck. It’s not grabbing him or even squeezing, but having it there triggers something inside Mako’s head, and he instantly feels his body relaxing a lot more, almost like kitten going all limp when grabbed by the scruff of its neck by its mother.

            “What are you doing?” Mako asks, staring down at the water glass in his big hands.

            “Tryin’ somethin’ out,” Jamie replies. “Had a boyfriend once who had anxiety. This usually worked on ‘im.”

            “I’m not your boyfriend.”

            “Nah, but yer havin’ a massive panic attack, mate,” Jamie tells him. “I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”

            Mako grunts in reply, still staring down at the glass. He doesn’t like the idea of having panic attacks; panic sounds weak, and the notion of being weak repulses Mako so deeply and has done so ever since his brother had smacked him over the head every time he had cried as a kid. But no matter how much he wants to fight it or dislikes it, Mako trusts Jamie, and what Mako felt before did feel a lot like what he had felt back when… Mako shakes his head; he doesn’t want to think about that, and especially not right now.

            “Wanna talk about it?” Jamie asks him after they’ve been sitting in silence for a while. His hand is still resting on the back of Mako’s neck. It feels warm and soft, and before Mako can stop himself, he reaches up to cover it with his own.

            “No,” he mutters.

            “That’s fair,” Jamie hums with a nod. “Want me to leave ya alone?”

            “No.”

            Mako isn’t looking at Jamie, but he somehow knows that Jamie is smiling at him.

            “Wanna go back to the party?”

            “In a bit.”

            “Alright.”

            They sit there in silence. Mako feels a bit stupid for thinking this, but it feels like Jamie’s hand on the back of his neck is keeping him up as if energy is streaming from it and into Mako’s body. Slowly but surely, Mako’s body returns to its normal state; his heart rate goes back to normal, his breathing slows down, and his vision isn’t blurred anymore. The sounds of the world are slowly returning to him. He can hear the people talking and laughing outside, and this time it’s not grinding on his nerves but making him feel warm instead.

            “There’s a Robert Jacobsen exhibit at that museum up north next weekend,” Jamie says. Mako still isn’t looking him in the eyes, but he watches as Jamie rocks his long, bare legs back and forth over the edge of the bed, his flip-flops dangling between his toes. “It looks pretty ripper. D’ya wanna go with me?”

            “Yeah,” Mako mutters, and he finally, finally looks up and meets Jamie’s gaze. Jamie is grinning his usual wide grin at him, showing off his one gold tooth. His nose is a bit pink from the evening sun, and the cheap, pink-rimmed sunglasses he bought in the corner store the other day are in his hair, pulling back his messy bangs almost like a headband. He looks so—so open and happy, and just… Mako doesn’t even think about it as he leans in to kiss Jamie, but he finds himself with Jamie’s hand on his mouth, gently but firmly holding him back.

            “Not now,” Jamie says, still smiling at Mako. He removes his hand from Mako’s mouth to slide it over Mako’s cheek, which he gives a soft smack. “If yer still achin’ for my bacon when the party’s over, I’m all yers, mate.” Then he leans in and bites at Mako’s cheek, just hard enough to leave a quickly fading imprint of his teeth. “I’m gonna go back to the party and eat. Come out when yer ready, yeah?”

            As Mako watches Jamie get off the bed, wink at him and then leave, Mako is pretty sure he has never wanted another person more than he wants Jamie.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now! Poor Mako, huh? He's had it rough, the poor guy. Hopefully Jamie will be able to help him.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and thank you even more for your continued support of me and my writings. It really means the world to me, friends :)
> 
> If you want to stay updated about my writing process, follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit)!


	12. The Drop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this the moment where Mako finally lets himself be made of more than stone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is chapter 12 of Superannuated, which is rapidly becoming my favorite fic out of all the fics I've written. This chapter is a bit short, and that's why I will probably publish another chapter before I start working on my next planned one-shot.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

*

 

Mako can’t remember the last time he has wanted someone this intensely for something other than their body. Now that he thinks on it, he’s pretty sure he has never wanted anyone for more than their body, and how the hell this runt has managed to twist Mako’s head this much around is a goddamned mystery. Mako has been doing just fine picking up twinks online or on bars, and he has been doing even better tossing them out once he has fucked them once (maybe twice), but it’s not like that with Jamie, and Mako knows it should freak him out, but it just doesn’t. He comes back out a few minutes after Jamie, and he just feels good. Jamie is back at the barbeque, grinning and chattering with the others as they line up to get food. Mako and Jamie’s eyes meet through the smoke, and Jamie winks at him, and Mako, the grown man, the almost 50 year old man with grey hair and tattooed knuckles, feels his heart fucking _flutter_ like he’s a damn teenager. It should have rightly sent him tumbling into an anxiety-ridden abyss, but instead he just grins like an idiot before he manages to get his face under control. It helps that Ana is watching him and smirking.

            Mako sticks to light beer and soda the rest of the evening. Alcohol and anxiety apparently don’t mix well for him, and he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened earlier. Not that he thinks it’s going to bother him anymore tonight, because he’s feeling a lot better. They’re all sitting down and eating, laughing and talking. Mako and Jamie aren’t sitting together, but their eyes meet across the table every now and then while dusk slowly settles around them and Lúcio and Genji light all the lanterns they’ve hung up on the shop facades around them in the cul-de-sac. The mood is relaxed and laid back with Lúcio’s soft house music wafting through the warm summer night air. Jamie seems to be deep in conversation with Reinhardt who seems to have noticed the stupid Mickey Mouse watch that Mako gave Jamie for Christmas. Jamie has been wearing it ever since, and apparently a relatively drunk Reinhardt is trying to explain Jamie how watches are constructed and how all the tiny cogwheels fit together inside it. The look on Jamie’s face is one of complete immersion into what Reinhardt is explaining to him, which is typical; Mako is pretty sure he has never seen Jamie be uninterested or bored with anything that has to do with mechanical or technical stuff. It’s been a while since Mako informed Jamie that he’s a gigantic nerd, and Jamie had nodded and told Mako that he’d made a note of it. During the time Mako and Jamie have known each other (shit, that’s more than six months now), Mako has learned just how much of a tech and mech nerd Jamie really is. He often uses the welding kit Mako got for him, making weird little sculptures out of scrap metal that he puts on display around the shop—one or two of them have actually been sold—but Jamie’s true talents lie in building things. Mako has watched Jamie pick apart his old toaster and a discarded microwave he’s found in a dumpster to make something entirely new. Sometimes the gadget works, other times they’re just weird and fun; most of the time they’re both. Mako has often considered urging Jamie to try and take an engineering degree or something like that, but then he remembers that Jamie is actually in this country illegally, and applying to a university would probably be a bad idea.

            The mood changes a bit around 11PM when Fareeha shows up with a small group of friends. The music goes louder and the bass heavier, and it’s not really Mako’s cup of tea anymore. He’s had a nice long evening with the other shop owners on the street, but he’s more than ready to withdraw. He says goodnight to Ana and Reinhardt and nods to the rest. Jamie looks to be having fun with the kids (they’re a lot closer to his age than anyone else here), so Mako doesn’t disturb him. Jamie probably only made that promise earlier to be nice to Mako. In fact, the more Mako thinks about it as he closes the shop door behind him and climbs the stairs to his apartment, Jamie was probably just trying to make him calm the fuck down and stop being such a baby. It’s pretty hard for him to believe that Jamie would want to have sex again given the fact that he hasn’t made a single advance since Christmas. Of course, Mako is the one who has refused to talk about it or even acknowledge that it happened, but still…! He can’t be too upset with Jamie, though, Mako thinks as he thumbs the buttons of his shirt open. It can’t be easy to live with an old, anxious pervert like Mako, and Jamie had just done what he thought would make it easier on both of them. Jamie should have fun with his peers, not hang around a musty old guy like Mako who hates going out and being loud.

            Mako is thankful that it’s his living room and not his bedroom that’s facing the street, because the bass thumping out from Lúcio’s speakers down there is making the glass panes in his windows rattle a bit. After dropping the shirt on the couch, Mako closes the bedroom door behind him and wriggles out of his slacks before letting himself tumble down onto his bed with a soft grunt. It’s still pretty light outside, but Mako can’t bring himself to get up and close the blinds, so he just stays on the bed, rolling from left to right to wrap the blanket around himself. He had been feeling so good most of the evening, but now that he’s alone and wrapped up in bed, his mood takes a turn for the worse. Well, it’s not that the anxiety is returning or that he’s outright sad, but he’s sort of blue. Letting out a resigned sigh, Mako decides to accept that whatever he had hoped for with Jamie just won’t happen. What will happen, however, is sleep, and Mako yawns and closes his eyes, hoping that he will feel better and more energized tomorrow.

            It could have been a minute later or several hours—Mako has no idea—when something warm crawls into his bed. Mako grunts, only half awake, and forces his eyes open to see what’s going on. It’s light outside and the chirping birds can be heard through the window Mako has left ajar, but when he looks at the alarm clock on the nightstand, the digital numbers tell him that it’s only 4:30AM. He turns and finds himself face to face with Jamie.

            “Ya disappeared, mate,” he whispers, grinning and twisting closer. Even though he’s under the blanket with Mako, it only takes Mako about a second to realize that Jamie is completely naked. Naked and warmed from the sun. He smells like wine and smoke.

            “Thought we had a date,” Jamie goes on, splaying his fingers over Mako’s bare chest and scratching through the scant, greying hairs there. “But before I know it, my date’s upped and left. Made me real sad, y’know.”

            “Don’t need a pity fuck,” Mako mutters, still a bit too groggy to properly understand what’s going on. He doesn’t need any charity, but Jamie is still naked and squirming up against him, and Mako’s body doesn’t share Mako’s reservations.

            “Who’s talkin’ about pity?” Jamie snickers as he presses up against Mako’s front, snaking his hand down to rub his warm palm against Mako’s dick through his boxers, and a soft shudder crawls up Mako’s spine. “Been thinkin’ about this for months, haven’t I?”

            “You…?” Mako wakes up for real and blinks at Jamie, forgetting to be sullen. “Why haven’t you said anything or… or done anything?”

            “Cause ya made it pretty crystal clear that you’d rather forget about the whole thing!” Jamie snorts, shaking his head a bit. “Actin’ like you wished it hadn’t happened. I figured you didn’t want a repeat.”

            Mako really, really wishes there was something he could say that would prove Jamie wrong, that could prove that it’s Jamie who’s been acting like an idiot here, but the fact of the matter is that it’s Mako, and only Mako, who’s been a moron, and Mako mentally kicks himself.

            “Well, maybe I was being a cock,” Mako mumbles, turning to lie on his back. He’s too embarrassed at himself to look at Jamie right now. He looks a lot at Jamie about an hour later, though, when they’re both on their sides, facing each other, and Mako has two slick fingers buried deep in Jamie’s ass. Jamie’s leg is draped over Mako’s hip and his dick is rubbing against Mako’s gut. Their lips are brushing against each other in almost-kisses while Jamie directs Mako in breathy whispers. Mako follows obediently—not because he doesn’t know what he’s doing, because he does, but because he likes following Jamie’s orders for some reason. Mako usually doesn’t follow the orders of anyone, and most people don’t have the guts to even try and order him around, but it feels natural with Jamie, and Mako honestly hasn’t even thought that much about it.

            “Right—fuck, right there,” Jamie breathes, fingers curling against Mako’s big forearm. Mako can feel the muscles squeezing him, and it would be a blatant lie to say that it doesn’t drive him a little wild. It has been quite a while since he’s done this, too; Mako hasn’t slept with anyone while Jamie has stayed here—he simply hasn’t felt it, but holy fuck, he feels it now. There’s this weird, skinny twink writhing around his fingers and moaning against his lips, and Mako kisses them as he shifts his hand a bit so he can rub his thumb over the piercing nestled an inch or two behind Jamie’s balls. Jamie sucks in a sharp breath, and his pale lashes flutter as his eyes close and Jamie arches his neck back, letting his breath out against in a giggling moan.

            “You liked that last time, too,” he grins, rolling his hips and pushing down against Mako’s thumb. “Wanna get one? Or maybe in yer knob, eh? That’d be sexy.” As he talks, Jamie reaches down to swipe a fingertip over the head of Mako’s dick, making it twitch.

            “You want me to get my cock pierced?” Mako asks with a rumbling purr.

            “Why not? Wouldn’t be the first time you’d had a needle in yer donger,” Jamie replies, his fingers trailing the tattoos sprawled along the thick shaft.

            Mako is not really in the mood to talk about piercings and tattoos right now, and neither is Jamie a few moments later when he’s bracing himself on Mako’s belly as he slowly sits down on Mako’s cock. The sex is objectively probably just as good or bad as a lot of the sex Mako has had in his lifetime, but it _feels_ like the best sex he’s ever had, and that’s the important part. Maybe it’s because he has gone for more than six months without sex, maybe it’s because Jamie’s ass is magical, maybe it’s because Jamie leans over Mako and pins his wrists to the headboard with his long, strong fingers while he rides Mako so hard there’s no way they’re going to get out of this without both sporting bruises? Mako really doesn’t care why this is so amazing; he’s more than satisfied with staring up at this runt in half awe, wondering what the hell he did that he deserved someone like Jamie stumbling into his life.

            Mako comes first, huffing and groaning as his cock swells inside Jamie, and he’s pretty sure he blabbers out something really embarrassing, but he forgets what it is a few seconds later when Jamie shifts to sit on his chest, nudging his hard dick against Mako’s lips with a breathy giggle.

            “Open Sesame!” he whispers with a wide smirk, and Mako opens his mouth like the good lad Jamie tells him he is. Jamie fucks his mouth for a minute or two before he pulls back with a gasp and comes all over Mako’s tattooed chest. Then they kiss, and they keep kissing until the sun is fully up and they can hear the bells in the tower on city hall chime 6AM.

            “My older brother is dead,” Mako tells Jamie sometime around noon. They’re still in bed, still naked, and have been on and off sleeping and fooling around. Jamie is half draped over Mako’s belly, facing him. He has been snoozing for the last half hour, but he opens his eyes when Mako speaks.

            “What killed him?” he asks, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

            “I did.” Mako sighs. “Not directly, but he died because of me.”

            Jamie doesn’t say anything; he just looks at Mako, waiting for Mako to decide if he wants to go on or not. Mako takes a deep breath and is honestly pretty surprised at the lack of panic he feels when he begins to tell Jamie something he hasn’t shared with anyone ever before. He tells Jamie about his life back in New Zealand, about how he and his brother Taika were orphaned when their parents died in a car crash, and how Taika had raised Mako more or less on his own. When Mako had been eight years old, Taika had been admitted into one of the local chapter of one of the big biker gangs. It’s not uncommon that they will take in youngsters who are having it tough—a kid raised within the gang made the most loyal members. It took less than a year before Mako had joined his brother. The jobs they gave him were mostly harmless—running errands, keeping a lookout for the peelers, bringing messages back and forth—and Mako had been good them, enjoying the small, tightknit community at the club house. They all looked after each other, and since Mako had been the youngest in the group, he had often been the center of attention. He had loved that life, and he had done whatever they asked of him. He had been 11 years old when he had killed someone the first time. Afterwards they had given him his first tattoo, and he had now been a full and equal member of the gang. Taika had been so proud of him. Every time Mako had killed someone, he had gotten a new tattoo, and by the age of 18, almost all of Mako’s body had been covered by black ink patterns. It had been around that time, too, that Mako had begun doubting the whole thing. He had tried to withdraw a bit from everything, and had eventually tried to stay out of some of the big gigs, but of course that hadn’t suited the group or Taika. Taika had worried that Mako would turn snitch or maybe join another gang, or maybe both. Mako had tried to convince Taika that that wouldn’t happen, that he was loyal to the group, but he didn’t want to be a part of the illegal deals anymore. Mako had told his brother that he wanted a simple life that didn’t include blood and murder. They had fought about it, a lot, and Mako had felt less and less safe around the others. They had been watching him constantly, they had been nervous and jumpy around him, and Mako had even heard some of them mumble about him. They didn’t trust him anymore, and when one of them had followed him home one night and seen him with a guy he had picked up earlier that night, things escalated. The gang members had been weary trusting him before, but they flat out refused to trust a dirty poofter, and Mako had later found out that Taika had only just managed to talk them out of beating him to a pulp. The president of the chapter had demanded that if they were going to let Mako live, he would have to prove his loyalty without question. Mako doesn’t remember the details of the job anymore, but it had involved violence and death. Mako had unwillingly agreed to do it, and Taika had come with him to keep him in check. They had argued and fought on the way there, and Mako had eventually left, not caring if the gang was going to kill him or not. He didn’t want part of this anymore. Taika had carried out the job without him. It had gone wrong, and Taika had been fatally wounded by the police. Make had been sitting on the plane to Australia when Taika had died from his wounds, alone in an empty hospital ward. Mako hadn’t found out about this until several months later.

            Mako doesn’t meet Jamie’s gaze by the time he’s done talking. There’s something warm trickling down the side of his face, and he lifts a hand to wipe it away with a soft sigh. For the first time of his life, he has told the story of his past and of his brother, and he feels… relieved? It’s like he’s been carrying an enormous weight around for all these years, and telling Jamie about everything that happened back in New Zealand has made that weight dissolve. Mako feels infinitely light, and he actually looks around himself to check that he isn’t floating. No, he’s still on the bed, and Jamie is still resting on his belly, looking at him. Mako finally meets his gaze, and for a brief moment, Mako feels weightless. It’s a strange, whooshing sensation, and it makes him let out an involuntary grunt of a giggle.

            “Yer bloody somethin’, ain’t ya?” Jamie snorts, shaking his head.

            “What do you mean?”

            “First you tell me this—this crazy story of yer life, full of death and violence, makin’ me wanna keep ya safe forever and fuck up anyone who’s ever hurt ya, and then yer just lookin’ at me and gigglin’,” Jamie says. He doesn’t sound like he’s accusing Mako anything; mostly he looks puzzled and amused.

            “Yeah, I don’t know what that was about,” Mako hums, his hand stroking down Jamie’s naked back so his fingers can trail over every bump of Jamie’s ribs. “I don’t know, I’ve been carrying this shit around for so long, I just…” he shrugs, “I’m just glad to get it out, I guess.”

            “Never told anyone before?” Jamie asks him, shifting a bit to prop himself up on his pointy elbow. “I’m the only one who knows?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Wow.” Jamie scratches through his puffy hair with a half grin. “Wow. Don’t reckon I’ve ever been the only one to ever know somethin’. Ta, mate.”

            “For what?”

            “Y’know, for trustin’ me enough to tell me.”

            It’s on the tip of Mako’s tongue to say that it’s not about trust; Jamie just happened to be there when Mako finally felt raw enough to spill the beans, but that would be a lie. Mako has still failed to pinpoint what it is about Jamie that makes Mako feel so pliant with him, but that doesn’t matter that much. The fact remains that Mako feels more comfortable with Jamie than he has done with anyone else, even Ana, and the thought makes Mako grunt and accidentally smile a bit and reach out to stroke a big thumb over Jamie’s freckled cheek.

            “Don’t let it go to your head,” he mumbles.

            “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jamie grins, fingertips lazily tracing the patters on Mako’s chest. He leans closer, but instead of kissing Mako like Mako thinks he’s about to do, Jamie leans down to bite at one of Mako’s nipples. They don’t leave the bed that day except for bathroom breaks and food runs. They fuck again, and just like last time, Jamie easily takes control of the whole thing, and it doesn’t even occur to Mako to fight him on it.

 

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now! It's been a while since I've ended a chapter on something that wasn't some kind of cliff-hanger lol
> 
> Mako is just a complicated old guy, but he's softening up, and that's a good thing (for now).
> 
> Come say hi on Twitter: @drrtyrabbit


	13. The Grand Prix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes people do or say things they don't really mean. Mako's life is a roller coaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, my dudes, this is the last chapter of Superannuated! How did this happen? I had so many ideas for this fic, and most of them never happened, but I have to admit that I'm really proud of this one. It's not only the longest fic I've ever written, but I do think it's the best fic, too.
> 
> I hope you'll agree :)
> 
> Enjoy!

*

 

It takes Mako a moment to remember why he wakes up in a state of complete panic the next morning. He stares up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what extremely important thing he must have forgotten to feel this way, what colossal mistake he must have made to feel this way, and then Jamie grunts next to him and kicks off the blanket, baring his long, lean and lanky body. He’s stretched out like a cat in a streak of sunlight, snoring softly while his pale lashes flutter gently over his freckled cheeks. There’s nothing twitchy or bubbling about Jamie like this; he’s soft and warm, and Mako completely forgets to panic and instead reaches out to stroke his palm up Jamie’s thigh, over his hips and past his flaccid penis, and up his stomach and chest. Jamie’s still skinnier than most people, but he’s not dangerously skinny anymore, and Mako is less scared of accidentally snapping one of Jamie’s bones like a twig now than he was just a few months ago. Of course, a few months ago, Jamie wasn’t stretched out naked on Mako’s bed without a care in the world like a prince in some Greek myth who’s about to have a very bad time. Unlike that Greek prince, Jamie is about to have a very good time, because Mako decides to wake up him with a very long and very thorough blowjob. It’s the only time so far where Mako gets to set the pace—Jamie must be too groggy, because he simply lies there, arching his back and groaning softly, until his fingers eventually find enough strength to weave their way into Mako’s loose hair. That’s when Mako knows Jamie is fully awake, because that’s when Mako’s authority is challenged and quickly defeated by Jamie tugging at his hair, directing the rhythm and breathlessly praising Mako, his tongue, and his mouth. Mako relinquishes control in a single breath, and it feels amazing.

            It’s Monday, and although Mako would like to spend another full day in bed, talking and fucking, his shop isn’t going to tend to itself, and Jamie’s latest project isn’t going to weld itself either, so they both eventually drag themselves out of bed. The shower is just big enough for both of them, and although Mako is extremely tempted to continue their fuckathon, he’s honestly too spent. Jamie is too sore from yesterday anyway. That doesn’t stop them from making out until they’re both wrinkled and half dissolved under the warm spray.

            Three big things happen over the course of the next month—or maybe it’s just one big thing? They all sort of happen on top of each other or following each other in one fluid motion instead of being three separate instances. When Mako now and then tries to comb through everything that happened, he still can’t really figure out where one thing ended and the next began. It starts after that morning; Jamie doesn’t sleep in his room down in the shop anymore. They never actually talk about it and decide that Jamie should move into the apartment and Mako’s bedroom. It just happens on its own, and Mako doesn’t even notice until a few weeks later when he’s doing the laundry and realizes that most of the clothes in his hamper are Jamie’s weird mix of secondhand trash, band t-shirts, and the overly expensive designer shit that Mako can’t stop buying for him. Jamie has moved into the apartment without Mako knowing it, and Mako isn’t even upset about it. Okay, that’s a lie. Mako had actually fled over to Ana’s shop and hid there for almost an entire afternoon, attempting to drown himself in gourmet cafe lattes and those delicious, spicy cookies Ana makes. He had stayed there until Jamie had come over to hand over his latest sculpture to Ana who usually showcases them in her facade windows. Jamie had looked at him, offered him his signature grin and asked him if he wanted to come back and help making stuffed bell peppers for dinner. The way he had looked at Mako, the way he hadn’t even had to ask why Mako hadn’t been back at the shop for hours—because Mako knew that Jamie already knew—had been more than enough to wring the last few remnants of panic out of Mako. He had sighed and accepted his fate.

            The second thing that happens comes kind of out of left field and takes Mako completely by surprise; it’s just a small thing that has a massive impact. They are sitting in the workshop, both deeply into their work. Mako is restoring a copy of Børge Mogensen’s Spanish Chair, gently polishing the wood and the leather, and Jamie is working on his biggest project yet; a seven foot tall sculpture bent in faded and peeling car hoods he’s been allowed to nick from a scrap yard outside town. He has bent one of them into a long, uneven tube that’s now towering in the corner while Jamie is welding long strips of metal to its sides (it looks a bit like a giant bug). It happens when Jamie pushes away from his work, rolling backwards on his stool, and turns around to face Mako, who looks up from the chair. Jamie flips the welding helmet up and grins at Mako. His bare neck and his exposed ears are dark with soot and grease from the old metal, and a spark from the welding must have landed in Jamie’s puffy hair, because a couple of the tufts that jut out from his head are smoking slightly. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down Jamie’s nose, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand before saying, “Fuck me, it’s hot today! Who d’ya gotta finger to get an icy pole ‘round here?” And it’s right in that moment that Mako realizes that not only is he properly fucked, he’s actually properly in love. And to be honest? He’s probably been properly in love with Jamie for months now, but it’s not until that moment he genuinely realizes and feels it. And the craziest thing is that this time (unlike the time he realized that Jamie had moved in with him), Mako really doesn’t freak out. He just snorts and pushes Jamie away when Jamie tries to lean in to steal a sweaty, greasy kiss.

            The third thing that happens is something that Mako has been foolishly resisting for weeks, and when he looks back at it, it seems even more idiotic now. Once again, it's a small thing, and it's something they've never talked about, and once again Mako has no idea it's happened until afterwards (maybe he has some kind of condition, because this is happening more often than he's entirely comfortable with). He and Jamie are walking home from a gallery opening. One of Ana's regulars has bought and opened a small art gallery out by one of the canals, but Ana invites Jamie, because he might want to showcase there, and Jamie brings Mako. It's a sort of typical affair with mellow house music as the tapestry of an evening of networking, cocktails and tiny duck confit sliders, all organic and Fairtrade, of course. Mako spends most of the night in a corner, watching and listening while Jamie flexes his social muscles, which makes Mako feel a little jealous, but mostly quietly proud. They're both tipsy when they walk home later that night, Ana and Reinhardt walking a few steps in front of them. Jamie is telling Mako about this painter he met at the reception and all the amazing paintings he's done, and Mako is silently hating this guy when Jamie twists his ankle and stumbles. Mako instinctively reaches out and grabs Jamie's hand in his to keep him up.

            "Phew! Thanks, mate!" Jamie grins and squeezes Mako's big hand, and then he doesn't let go. He just keeps walking, holding Mako's hand, and when Ana turns around to check on them, Mako completely forgets to yank his hand away from Jamie's. It's not until he sees Ana's infuriatingly smug smile that he realizes what's going on, and by then it's too late. Ana has seen them walk down the street, hand in hand, and there is no explanation or excuse Mako could put up for sale that she would buy. And honestly? Mako doesn't really care. In fact, it's kind of a relief that Ana (and by extension everyone else on the street) knows, and Mako just stares back at her as if nothing is out of the ordinary, making her giggle and shake her head before looking away again.

            And those are the three things that happen during that one summer month, and Mako knows he can never be the same again, and that's okay. He's honestly a better person when he's with Jamie—even Ana has said so. He's less grumpy, a bit more extroverted, and most importantly, he just feels more at ease in his own life. It's not like he doesn't still experiences panic attacks or has nightmares anymore, but they are few and far between, and when they do happen, Jamie somehow knows exactly how to ease Mako back down. As the weeks trickle by, Mako feels more and more grounded in a soft, quiet way, and he even reaches a point where his anxiety starts to come back again, because he starts worrying that Jamie might be bored with their quiet and easy life in the shop.

            "Bored?" Jamie shakes his head and puts down his fork as he gets up, rounds the table and climbs into Mako's lap. "Mako, mate, darlin', apple of me bleedin' eye, I've had enough excitement to last me a lifetime, alright? This is the happiest I've ever been, yeah, and I ain't 'bout to give that up. Not for anythin' less than a marriage proposal from Robbie Contrane."

            "Robbie Coltrane? Really?"

            "Yeah, mate, ya kiddin' me?" Jamie snorts and wraps his half-arm around Mako's shoulders. "The other kids liked Harry Potter 'cuz of the magic or whatever, but I was there for Hagrid! Big, strong bloke, mh! Almost tore off me donger when I was watchin' those movies." Jamie licks his lips and squirms a bit in Mako's lap. "So if Robbie-boy rings me, I might have to change me last name to Coltrane."

            And that's how an irrational and very deep-felt hatred for Robbie Coltrane blossomed in Mako. But at least he stopped worrying about Jamie leaving, because he's bored.

            "And yer sure I shouldn't go with ya?" Jamie asks a third time that morning two months later over his bowl awful organic, vegan fiber cornflakes with apples and almond milk. He actually looks a bit worried, but that just serves to make Mako even more stubborn.

            "I already told you," Mako grunts, shaking his head. "You're not missing the reception for your first proper gallery exhibit to go with me to an industry show. You're not even that into modernist design."

            "I can reschedule the reception," Jamie suggests. Again.

            "No. Listen, this is a big break for you, and my only regret is that I can't be there," Mako says, leaning over the table to poke Jamie in the chest.

            Jamie is frowning as he rubs his chest, and he looks he's about to argue some more, but then he sighs resigned and nods. He doesn't look happy about it at all, and that's really not how a budding artist should be feeling days before his first exhibition. So Mako reaches over the table and takes Jamie's hand to squeeze it.

            "Hey," he mutters. "How about I take you to Berlin myself for Christmas? They have these huge Christmas markets and really good beer."

            "I don't have a passport," Jamie grumbles, staring down at Mako's hand.

            "You don't need one," Mako says. "We'll rent a car and drive. The border's open, and it shouldn't take more than half a day. I'll take you to see what's left of the wall and to Schokoladen or Trinkteufel, so all the young, tight punks can wonder what the hell you're doing with some old, fat grandpa."

            That makes Jamie grin, and he leans down to lick over Mako's tattooed knuckles. "They'll guess it's because yer blessed with either a huge knob or a talented mouth," he mumbles against Mako's skin, "and I'll tell 'em it's both."

            Jamie stops pestering Mako about coming with after that, but not until Mako also promises to text or call him every morning and every night while he's away. From the outside it might look like Jamie is anxious about being alone at the shop, but Mako knows that it's really the other way around; Jamie isn't worried about being alone (he has survived much worse than an extended weekend on his own), he's worried about Mako being alone in a city far away where Jamie can't get to him, and if Mako has to be totally honest (which he has not been with Jamie in this matter), he's not overly thrilled about traveling alone either. He's not about to tell Jamie that, however, because then Jamie would absolutely insist on coming with him, and there wouldn't be anything Mako would be able to do about it. He'll be fine, though. It's only a couple of days of networking, having his ass kissed, and maybe buying a few new pieces for the shop. He'll be back before either of them knows it, and that's what he keeps telling Jamie and himself until it's more or less become his mantra for this trip. He silently whispers it to himself on the platform a few days later when Jamie gets up on his tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, and he mutters it as he boards the train and waves briefly at Jamie, who looks a lot paler and nervously twitchy than normal. Mako is not happy about it, and he's not happy about not being happy about it; when did he become this codependent? It's disgusting, and the only thing that makes him feel better is thinking about how Jamie will hopefully be just as miserable as him while they're apart. Oh, and calling Ana and asking her to check in on Jamie every now and then. He's glad to hear that she doesn't mock him, but simply tells him that of course she will and wishes him a pleasant trip. In the background, something falls to the floor with a large bang and Reinhardt's voice rings out, "Verdammt!" Ana sighs and apologizes before hanging up. It's nice to know that some things will never change.

            Mako has been to Berlin many, many times before; he has come to the city at least once a year since he opened the shop, so he knows the city like his own backyard. He always stays in the same small hostel just off Wriezener Karree, and he's stuck to the same ritual all these years; he will arrive early in the evening, check into his room, and then go out, find my favorite café and have their excellent Sauerbraten and locally brewed craft beer for dinner. Then he will go back to the hostel to sleep and get up early for the show the next day. This time, however, Mako's routine is slightly different, because after he comes back to the hostel after dinner, he spends three hours (positively murdering his phone bill) on the phone with Jamie like a lovesick teenager, and it's honestly so embarrassing that Mako is glad that no one ever has to know about it. Jamie tells him about how he's been working on his last piece all day and been so depressed that he had to take the train all the way out to Bob to drown his sorrows in two of those roast pork sandwiches sans pork, and Mako tells Jamie about the lady on the train who snored louder than the train engine. Jamie in turn tells him that he's nervous about the reception at the gallery tomorrow, and Mako assures him that everything will be great, and Jamie tells Mako that he misses him. He also tells Mako to get naked, lie down on the bed, and find the vibrator and the lube Jamie has stashed in Mako's suitcase.

            It's almost 1AM when Mako forces himself to say goodnight and hang up. He spends at least 10 minutes staring himself in the mirror, silently but ruthlessly shaming himself for acting like a schoolgirl in love. He warns himself to better not do it again, or else… He sighs and brushes his teeth before he goes to bed to spend another hour taking some very deep breaths.

            Mako wakes up half an hour before his alarm the next morning, and that actually suits him fine, because that means he can spend some extra time in the shower to calm his nerves. He has always disliked big crowds of people, but it's gotten worse with age, and although he forces himself to do it, it's getting harder and harder. But spending half an hour under the warm water and then another half hour on the phone with a half-sleeping Jamie certainly helps him feel better, and by the time he's squeezed into the S-bahn train, heading towards the bcc Berlin Congress Center, he's actually in a good mood. And that's good, because it's going to be a long day; Mako has a stupidly large amount of meetings and networking events lined up, and they keep him so busy that he almost forgets about eating lunch until he realizes that he has a lunch date set up with one of his oldest clients, a filthy rich and amazingly snarky widow who has supported him from the beginning. He just has time to send Jamie a quick text before he jumps into the cab. Jamie replies a few minutes later that he's still nervous about the reception, but Mako doesn't have time to reply, because his phone rings about a buy opportunity for two Jais Nielsen paintings. It's not until Mako glances at his phone four hours later that he sees the two unread texts and one unanswered call from Jamie, and he instantly feels awful, but when he tries to call back, the call goes to voicemail. He's in another meeting when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, but when he tries to call back shortly before dinner, the call once again goes to voicemail. Jamie is probably heading to the reception and don't have time to check his phone, so Mako sends him a text, telling him he'll be fine. Jamie replies with a laughing and nervously sweating emoji a while later, but he doesn't reply when Mako asks him how the reception is going.

            Mako makes a lot of new contacts, rekindles old client flames, and buys quite a few items, and by the time he's heading back to the hostel from the congress center, slightly tipsy, his head is throbbing, and he's completely exhausted. The train is almost empty this late, and Mako leans back in his seat and finds his phone, wanting to see what Jamie has replied. But Jamie hasn't sent any texts or pictures, and even though Mako has been busy all day and night as well, he can't help feel a tiny, minuscule bit hurt. He texts Jamie, asking about his night, then stuffs the phone back into his pocket and tries to forget about it, but he only lasts a few minutes before he has to check his phone. Maybe he didn't feel it vibrate? But no, there's still no reply. Mako sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, quietly willing himself to not call Jamie and interrupt whatever it is he's busy with. Because holy shit, Mako really, really doesn't want to be this clingy. He's frankly embarrassed at himself right now, and the shame helps him stick to his guns and not call Jamie. Well, he sticks to his gun until he's in his room, and the crushing silence is too much to bear. His first call goes to voicemail, and when the same thing happens to his second call a few minutes later, Mako leaves a pathetically lame voicemail where he tries to and fails at sounding casual, busy, and not at all on the verge of an anxiety attack because Jamie isn't picking up. He waits exactly one hour before he tries to call again. When Jamie doesn't answer that call either, Mako has to actually lie down on his back on the floor to stare up at the ceiling and take some very deep breaths. He stays that way for almost half an hour before he gets to his feet and empties five mini bottles of vodka and rum from the minibar. He lies down on the bed; the alcohol makes his head buzz, and it slows down his heart, numbing his panic until he just feels pleasantly sleepy.

            Mako wakes up when his phone, which he thankfully had the sense to unmute, starts ringing right next to his head (he must have fallen asleep with the phone on his pillow. Everything is really confusing for Mako for a few seconds when he sits up with a jerk and realizes that he's still fully dressed and all the lights are still on, but he manages to focus his still-drunk brain on the ringing phone. It's Ana. And it's 3:48AM. Mako frowns as he swipes to accept the call.

            "Hello?" His voice is rusty with sleep and too many cigarettes.

            " _Al-ḥamdu lillāh_ ," Ana breathes under her breath when Mako speaks. She sounds upset. "Mako, you have to come home. Jamie's been in an accident."

            Mako has never felt this close to an actual heart attack as he does in that second, and he swears he's about to pass out, but Ana tugs him back to reality.

            "He's okay—well, I mean, he got really badly hurt, but they're saying he'll pull through. But his leg is—!"

            "What happened? When did this happen?" Mako cuts across her, finally finding his voice and some power to stay upright.

            "I'm not sure," Ana replies. Her voice sounds gravelly like Mako's. Did she just wake up, too? "It must have happened right after he left the gallery. He left around 11, said he was exhausted."

            "What? 11? Why the hell didn't you call me?"

            "I was just told! They called from the hospital, and—Jamie doesn't have any official ID card or medical insurance, so they couldn't identify him, and they had to charge and get into his phone. I guess my name was at the top of his list of contacts."

            Mako feels painfully sober in a single breath, and the room suddenly feels very, very small. Ana once again yanks him back to the present.

            "Mako, they've called the police," she says with a sigh. "I think they're going to deport him."

            Mako has never in his life left a country that fast. It takes him less than two hours from when he hangs up the call with Ana to when he's sitting on a flight to leave Berlin. Another two hours later, he's jumping into a cab at the airport, barking at the driver to take him to the university hospital as fast as he possibly can. It's with his heart lodged firmly in his throat that he stalks down the white corridor to the emergency room and almost stumbles over Ana who comes out from the waiting room. She gasps in surprise, then takes his hand and squeezes it hard.

            "They won't let me see him, and they won't tell me anything," she informs him when he opens his mouth to ask just that. "Only family."

            There an extremely strong urge bubbling inside Mako to lift the on-duty doctor off her feet by the front of her white smock and threaten everything she has ever as much as smiled at until she gives him permission to see Jamie, but that would be an extremely bad idea, and Mako hasn't used those kinds of persuasion methods since he left new Zealand, and he doesn't plan on relapsing now.

            "I'm sorry, Mr. Rutledge," she says and shakes her head, blonde ponytail gliding over her shoulder, and she looks genuinely sorry. "I have very strict instructions not to let anyone who isn't immediate family see the patient. He's technically in police's custody."

            "I'm his partner," Mako informs her, trying his very best at sounding calm and collected. "He's—we're together."

            She sighs, then scratches her cheek like she's considering something. Then she sighs again and says, "I really am sorry. I can't let you see him if you're not his legal spouse." When Mako grunts and is about to leave her office, she adds, "But!" Mako stops and turns to look at her. She looks uncomfortable. "I don't suppose there's anything stopping me from telling you about his condition."

            "Yes." Mako is no longer about to leave. "Thanks."

            "Well, we don't know how it happened, because the patient hasn't been conscious to tell us, but—"

            "Jamie."

            "—but it looks like Jamie was crossing a street when a speeding car somehow hit him. He must have jumped to the side, because it's only his right leg that was hit, but…" she checks her notes on the journal in front of her on the desk, "it got banged up really bad; several bone fractures, torn ligaments, damaged nerves. I don't think we can save it."

            "What does that mean? You can't save it?"

            "I'm afraid the leg will have to be amputated. It's simply too damaged at this point. But that will be a case of Australian doctors."

            "Australian? What are you saying?"

            "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but we have been instructed to patch the patie—Jamie—to patch Jamie up and treat his pain, but nothing else. The state doesn't want to foot the medical bill for an illegal alien, so they're sending him home to get treated there."

            "They can't do that!" Mako is trying really, really hard not to raise his voice and let his anger happen to the doctor, who is only doing her job, but it's a struggle.

            "I'm afraid that they can," the doctor replies, shaking her head. "They changed the laws just last year. There's a zero tolerance for illegal immigrants these days. I can only keep them here until they're well enough to travel."

            Mako swallows down a furious outburst about human rights violations and instead just nods. "So, there's no way for me to see him before they kick him out of the country?"

            "You'll have to talk to the police," the doctor replies with an apologetic smile.

            Mako thanks her and leaves her office. On his way back to the waiting room, he passes the door Jamie is behind, and the urge to not give a shit about laws and regulations is almost overwhelming, but having the police take a closer look at him, his business, and worst of all, his past, would be a very bad thing for everyone involved. So Mako just glances an extra time at the door before forcing himself to keep walking. Reinhardt has arrived in the waiting room when Mako returns. Ana is curled up on a couch, sleeping, and Reinhardt is gingerly stroking over her white hair. She looks tiny like this, and Mako is gripped by an enormous sense of tenderness towards her and everything she's done for him and for Jamie. Reinhardt looks more serious than Mako has ever seen him before when Mako tells him everything the doctor said, and he doesn't even hesitate in saying yes to minding Mako's shop for him while he deals with this. He also promises to text or call Mako if there's any news whatsoever while Mako goes home to shower and put on some fresh clothes.

            It's honestly an outright miracle that Mako lasts all the way until he's finally alone, three steps into the shop, before he breaks out in cold sweats, trembling, and a heart that races so fast, he thinks it might explode. In fact, the only thing that keeps him from having a complete breakdown is probably the thought that Jamie needs him, and it will only makes matters a lot worse if Mako doesn't pull himself together and deal with this. It's a little scary how fast Mako has gotten used to having Jamie around to pull him back up again, and he promises himself that that will have to change no matter what happens. It's not Jamie's responsibility, and if everything goes like the doctor said, Jamie won't be around anymore to take care of it anyway. Ugh, that thought makes Mako's insides feel cold and squirmy, and he hurries to think of something else as he climbs the stairs to the apartment on trembling knees. A nice, long shower makes him feel a bit better, and he comforts himself with the thought that maybe he can somehow get see Jamie tomorrow.

            But no, it takes another three days before Mako gets to see Jamie. When Mako wakes up on the waiting room couch the following morning, it's to the message that Jamie has woken up and seems to be alright. His state appointed defense counsel is due to show up later that afternoon to help make the deportation go as smoothly as possible. By some strange coincidence, it turns out that the lawyer, Jørn Rosentofte, has actually bought several pieces of furniture from Mako, and once Jamie has confirmed Mako's identity and given his permission, Jørn is more than willing to let Mako in on the case details; in so far as to challenge the deportation, there is nothing to be done. The law is crystal clear on that part, and Jamie has done pretty much everything wrong. He hasn't even tried to apply for a residency permit, he has been lazy, he has been begging on the streets, and he has generally shown no desire to do things the legal way. All this put together with a very strict set of laws means that there is no way Jamie will be allowed to stay or even apply for a residency permit for the next 10 years. The only thing Jørn Rosentofte is here to do is to try and extend the deadline for Jamie's departure and perhaps try and reduce the fine Jamie will inevitably get as much as possible.

            "I have good news and bad news," Jørn says when he calls Mako that afternoon. Since Jamie has woken up and isn't in any immediate danger, Mako has allowed himself to relax enough to go back to the shop to take care of some business. But he's distracted, and he's been staring into the wall for a while when the call interrupts his thoughts.

            "Bad news first," Mako says.

            "I haven't been able to push the deadline," Jørn explains. "Apparently they've just sent a young Afghan girl out of the country, because she was here without papers, and they can't afford to look like they're more lenient towards people from western countries, so they won't consider mitigating circumstances in this case."

            "What does that mean?"

            Jørn sighs. "Jamie will have to leave the country no later than tomorrow at 6PM, or he will be arrested and will have to deal with more than just a fine."

            "And, uh, the good news?" Mako asks, trying to ignore the surge of panic that's bubbling up through his throat. "You said something about good news."

            "They've agreed to let you see him. Tonight. Only half an hour."

            Mako is strangely nervous when he shows up at the hospital later that day. He and Jamie haven't seen each other or spoken for almost four full days, which is the longest they've ever gone since Mako found Jamie on the street that winter's night. It's almost a year ago now—in fact, it has been more or less exactly one year since Jamie came into Mako's shop that day and tried to steal from him. It feels like it's been more than a year, and when Mako steps through the door to Jamie's room and finally looks Jamie in the eye, he feels very old. Jamie is pale and with a pretty bad abrasion on his cheek and chin from where he must have landed on the asphalt. He looks smaller somehow, but at least he's sitting up on the bed, his right leg stretched out and hidden away in a thick cast. It looks like Jamie has been bored since he woke up, because he's scribbled band names and drawn ugly, little rat doodles all over the cast. There is a split-second when their eyes meet and Jamie doesn't react that Mako feels like the entire room is imploding on him, but then Jamie's face lights up in a wide grin, and he sits up a little straighter.

            "G'day, mate!" he says cheerfully like nothing out of the ordinary has happened, and Mako is both too relieved and infuriated by this to say anything back. Instead he glances at the police officer who standing by the door. The man shifts his weight a bit, then grunts and says, "Half an hour," before he leaves, closing the door.

            Mako had thought maybe he would know what to say now when he and Jamie are alone, but no, he still has no idea what to say or even do. Jamie is sitting there, all banged up, and in 24 hours, he will leave the country and travel to the other side of the planet, far away from Mako.

            "Are ya just gonna stand there and look pretty, or are ya gonna come kiss me?" Jamie asks Mako when Mako hasn't moved for a few seconds. "Maybe tell me how glad yer feelin' over my not bein' dead?"

            "I'm glad you're not dead," Mako mumbles, and he finally manages to convince his feet to move. He takes the four steps over to the side of Jamie's bed, but before he can do anything else, Jamie reaches out to tug him into a kiss. It's a damn cliché, but all the tension seems to seep out of Mako's body when he lips touch Jamie's, and his knees actually feel weak enough that he has to lean against the side of the bed.

            "Guess it couldn't last forever, eh?" Jamie half-grins into the kiss. "Was real nice, though."

            "What was nice?" Mako asks, large fingers thread through Jamie's stupid hair and down the back of his neck.

            "This. Us. You and me, mate," Jamie says and breaks the kiss to pull back and look up at Mako. He's still grinning, but there's a strained quality over it. "They're sendin' me to the other side of the bleedin' world, and I ain't allowed back for 10 years. Not gonna ask you to deal with that."

            Mako blinks. "You—you're leaving me?"

            "No! Well, I mean, what d'ya wanna do?" Jamie groans, rubbing over his good cheek. "I'm not allowed back here, and seriously, mate, yer whole life is here, innit? Yer shop, yer furniture, yer friends. Yer not gonna leave all that for a little shit like me, are ya?"

            Mako honestly hadn't thought that far ahead. He had been so worried about Jamie's health that he'd forgotten to think about what Jamie's deportation would actually mean for them. He has heard about long distance relationships, but this long distance? It seems absurd.

            "I don't know," Mako says honestly. The thought of ending this, the best relationship—hell, the _only_ relationship he's ever had, right now makes him feel empty and completely lost.

            "Well, I do," Jamie says, and he looks a lot older like this. "Not gonna make ya uproot a good life just 'cuz I'm a dingbat who's livin' here illegally."

            "Don't I get a say in this?" Mako demands as the floor opens up underneath him. He feels dizzy, and it must have been showing on his face, because Jamie is shifting sideways to make room on the bed for Mako to sit. Mako sits, licking his lips and inhaling deeply through his nose and out through his mouth, just like Jamie has taught him.

            "Of course ya do, but…" Jamie groans and strokes his hand over Mako's back. He has that look of "this hurts me as much as it hurts you" on his face, and Mako can't decide if he wants to kiss him or punch him. "I don't wanna make ya do it. Don't think I don't know how bloody hard you've been workin' to make that shop what it is today, mate, 'cuz I do."

            There's a plate of uneaten food on the side table next to the bed. There's a slice of greying ham on it, a small mound of bland-looking peas, and two potatoes with some gravy. It looks like someone has taken a bite of one of the potatoes, but didn't have the stomach to eat any more of it. The dispenser for hand sanitizer hanging next to the door drops a big, clear glob of gel on the floor with a soft _plop_ , and the clock on the wall ticks and tocks steadily onwards. The whole world seems to be moving on as always even as it's breaking into a million pieces around Mako.

 

*

 

Mako wakes up with a start that's powerful enough to make the bed jump. His loose hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he feels ice cold despite the room being warm, almost too hot. His heart is racing in his chest, and the images of Jamie on the hospital bed are still swirling in his head, Jamie's words still ringing faintly in his ears. He knows it's just his brain tricking his senses, but Mako swears the smell of the hospital is still hanging in his nostrils, and he can't help but rub his nose to try and get it out. It helps that the window is open and the fresh breeze is streaming into the bedroom, bringing with it the smell of the sea and the sound of seagulls.

            "Just a nightmare," he mutters, partly to himself, when he feels a hand on the small of his back.

            "Mm, what about?" Jamie asks from somewhere down by Mako's right hip.

            "About that time you were being an idiot," Mako grunts, rubbing over his face and pushing the hair away from his forehead.

            "Gonna have to be more specific, mate," Jamie groans, stretching before lazily grabbing Mako's shoulder to try and tug him down into the sheets again. "There's been many times."

            "The time where you tried to convince me that I should let you go back to Australia on your own."

            "Oh. Yeah, I was bein' a prime dill that time," Jamie snorts softly, still tugging at Mako, and Mako lets himself fall back down onto the mattress. "First class fool."

            "Yeah," Mako hums, arching an eyebrow as Jamie shifts, propping himself up on his elbow on Mako's chest. "I'm still mad about that, by the way."

            "Oh, come on!" Jamie huffs, rolling his eyes. "It's almost five years ago, ya daft geezer. And you changed me mind, right? Sold the shop and moved all yer stuff over here, didn't you?"

            "I did."

            "And you opened up a brand spankin' new shop, didn't you?"

            "I did."

            "And it's been grouse, hasn't it? Makin' heaps more than yer old shop, dunnit?"

            "It does."

            "Then what have ya got to still be mad about, ya bleedin' wowser?"

            "Nothing," Mako grunts, and he can't keep himself from smirking a bit. "I just like making you list all the great things I've done since we got here."

            "I'll have yer fuckin' head for that, ya wanker!" Jamie roars, and he digs all five of his fingers into Mako's side, right in that spot Mako has foolishly left totally exposed and unprotected.

            Mako is so ticklish, it's almost a real disability, and unfortunately for Mako, Jamie discovered this weakness of his a few years ago. A loud squeal that fits a man like Mako very poorly bursts out of Mako's mouth, and a mighty surge goes through his body as he tries to wriggle away from Jamie's maddening fingers. Jamie might only have two limbs left, but he's annoyingly tenacious and hard to shake off. There are tears streaming down Mako's flushed cheeks as his laughter booms out and vibrates off the walls.

            "Shit, peanut, you fucking rat, _peanut!_ Please!" he gasps out, wriggling and twisting uselessly. "Jamie, I'm gonna piss the bed! Stop! Fuck!"

            The tactic works; Jamie lets up just enough for Mako to regain control over his muscles and overpower Jamie. Mako rolls over, pushing Jamie into the mattress and pinning him to it.

            "Revenge," Mako whispers, still panting as he leans over Jamie who's squirming under him.

            "Oh yeah?" Jamie smirks. "What'cha gonna do, eh? I'm ain't ticklish."

            "No," Mako says, and the smirk spreading on his lips makes Jamie's falter. "But let's see how fast you get put on that leg of yours and get downstairs, hm? Will it be fast enough to stop me from drinking all that very expensive and very fancy, organic carrot juice you got yesterday? It's your favorite, isn't it? Really hard to find, isn't it?"

            Jamie goes a bit pale, and he hisses when Mako suddenly jumps off the bed with a nimbleness and swiftness that shouldn't belong to him at his size and age.

            "No! Mako! Don'tcha fuckin' dare!" he screams after Mako, and Mako can hear him scrambling to get off the bed to grab his prosthetic leg off the floor. Mako doesn't wait around to watch him, but bolts down the narrow staircase to the kitchen.

            "I'm opening the fridge, Jamie!" he calls, making sure to do it slowly enough to make the hinges squeak for Jamie to hear.

            "I'll turn ya inside out and wear ya as a fuckin' coat!" Jamie howls, and Mako can hear the dull thud of his prosthetic foot stomping across the bedroom floor and down the stairs.

            "I'm opening the bottle!" Mako calls as he does indeed take out the bottle of juice and open it.

            "I swear to God, fucker, if yer lips're even touch—!"

            By the time Jamie slams the door to the kitchen open, his face lobster red, Mako is leaning against the kitchen counter. The opened bottle of juice in on the counter, but so are two glasses that Mako has filled with juice, one for each of them. He smirks at Jamie, who's standing there in the door, stark naked and gawking at him. Then Jamie starts laughing so hard he doubles over and almost loses his balance.

            "I fuckin' hate you," he hiccups, wiping his eyes as he wanders over to Mako and pinches his boob. "That's the worst thing you've ever done to me."

            "That's what you get for tickling me," Mako grunts, handing Jamie a glass before leaning down to peck his flushed cheek. "And for trying to go back to Sydney without me."

            Jamie snorts and clinks their glasses together.

            "Cheers, old man," he says. "Sydney wouldn't be the same without yer lovely mug."

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Can you believe it? I really, really hope you liked the final chapter :)
> 
> I'd like to thank all of you so much for your support. Seriously, it has meant the world to me to see your kudos and read your lovely comments. As some of you may know, I've been struggling with a really frustrating writer's block for a while, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that it's basically your support that has helped me get mostly through it. So, thank you so much! I'm so incredibly thankful for all of you!
> 
> I hope I'll see you around next time I post a fic :) The final chapter of Superunknown is still to come, and I have already gotten quite a few words down on the witch/familiar AU I've been wanting to write for a while now. 
> 
> If you'd like to keep yourself updated on my fic progress, you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/drrtyrabbit), which is where I'm most active these days.
> 
> Oh, and in case you were wondering: it was not easy for Mako to leave Ana behind, but she comes out to visit Jamie and Mako with Reinhardt at least once a year, and she still refuses to even acknowledge the mere possibility that she and Reinhardt are actually in a relationship.


End file.
